


Sinners and Spinners

by marchionessofblackadder



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-02
Updated: 2012-11-26
Packaged: 2017-11-09 01:24:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 26,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/449703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marchionessofblackadder/pseuds/marchionessofblackadder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When some of Rumpelstiltskin's darkest visitors come to call, Belle learns more about her employer's past and of the man behind the monster.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The god

Serving Rumpelstiltskin had surprisingly become something of a small comfort in Belle’s life. It wasn’t her ideal situation, to be sure; being subservient to someone who had accepted her as collateral was not what she counted as a happily ever after, but it had turned out to be much different than she’d anticipated. She cooked his meals and laundered his clothing and gathered his straw. She swept and scrubbed the floors, wrote his letters, and tended his animals. But after some time, and she could not put an exact number on it, those things transformed from chores into habits, and ones she quite enjoyed.   
  
Wiping windows was an hour of daydreaming from a lovely castle, gathering straw was a short journey through the woods into town and meeting a manner of new and interesting people, and serving his meals was feeling the genuine warmth of taking care of someone who needed her. Before her life at the Dark Castle, no one had  needed  her, and Belle had always loved being useful. With each little moment, Rumpelstiltskin seemed to accept her presence easier every time, even welcoming it, and having a little bit of room to call her own, room she earned for herself that was not given to her, was a new kind of pride Belle didn’t know she could have.   
  
Being Rumpelstiltskin’s caretaker had become being Rumpelstiltskin’s companion. It was less of a job and more of a life she had made for herself, and she sported rougher hands and a brighter smile because of it.  
  
Serving the Dark One was an entirely different matter.

It meant that Belle was privy to the more twisted aspects of Rumpelstiltskin. It meant she endured his frenzied tantrums, his cruel mockery, and, worst of all, his dealings with foolhardy souls. And as caretaker, Belle was responsible for entertaining and serving while Rumpelstiltskin made his deal with his visitor. More often than not those souls tended towards royalty, sometimes peasants if the deal was interesting enough, and in some cases there were supernatural beings Belle only thought existed in stories.

Oh, how she was wrong.

____________________________________________

 

The first visitor gave her more of a fright than Rumpelstiltskin ever had.  
  
Belle had been alone in the chilly great hall, the fire crackling in the hearth to warm against the gathering storm clouds that filled the windows. Listening to the thunder all morning, she’d polished the silver, dusted the collection of trinkets, beat out the rugs and curtains, and had served Rumpelstiltskin his tea. He had mentioned there was to be a visitor that day, arriving before dinner, so Belle had taken extra care with choosing what choices to set out for preparation for the meal.  
  
With those chores taken care of, she found herself before Rumpelstiltskin’s spinning wheel. Oil cloth in hand, Belle watched the spindle, careful as she turned the wheel to polish the wood. It was smooth from so many years of use, and the gentle creak it made upon turning was a small reminder that not everything kept by magic was perfect. She didn’t know why, but the oddly comforting thought made her smile.  
  
“Careful of the point.”  
  
Belle startled at the smooth, cool voice, dropping her cloth and gracelessly knocking over the stool in the process. She turned, one hand over her heart and the other holding onto one of the spokes of the wheel to face her intruder. He stood just before the fire as if he’d been there the whole afternoon with her. He was tall and slim, but broadly built against the cut of a dark robe slashed with emerald green.   
  
Belle thought he could have been quite handsome, but he was too  still , as if carved of marble.  
  
“I beg your pardon?” she asked not a little breathlessly. It was rare that she was taken by surprise anymore after living with Rumpelstiltskin for so long- he often appeared out of thin air beside her while she cooked or cleaned, and for weeks it had scared her violently, and her complaints had only been met with a manic giggle. But she’d gotten used to it.   
  
To have a stranger do it, well, that was different.  
  
“The point,” the man nodded his head to the needle of the spinning wheel, entwining his fingers at his back as he slowly moved towards the platform. “As I recall, it befell an unfortunate young princess once to prick her finger and fall down dead.”  
  
Belle swallowed thickly past her heart as he approached, coming to stand just in front of her on the platform. His eyes were incredibly blue and never left the needle. “Fate is never kind to a curious woman, is it?” His gaze flickered up to her face, and Belle felt heat bloom in her cheeks.  
  
“I think it depends on the woman and the object of her curiosity,” Belle said slowly, her words hushed. Behind her, her fingers tightened around the spoke, her other hand smoothing down the rippling blue fabric of her dress. She felt lightheaded and uncomfortable under the stranger’s quiet scrutiny, yet smiled, “But I don’t think the curiosity of men has quite worked out in our favor, either.”  
  
The man inclined his head as he continued to study her, before his own smile curved his lips, and Belle felt quite like a mouse being charmed by a snake. She tasted magic, or at least something like it in the air, a mix of ozone and earth and power, and she knew it was the time to call for Rumpelstiltskin.  
  
“Your master, he’s quite powerful, isn’t he?” the stranger stepped up on the platform, close enough that his arm almost brushed Belle’s. The closeness of another person was almost foreign to her after being so long without human contact, but this was not the same. There was such a lack of feeling to the man, but Belle wasn’t sure if it was because no feeling existed, or he was simply very talented at disguising it.  
  
“He is,” she spoke cautiously, her eyes flickering to his hands. If he were to harm her, though she did not find him aggressive, he stood a head taller than her, and she knew she would not be able to overpower such a man. She would have to rely on quickness. “He’s the most powerful man in the realms.”  
  
The man’s blue eyes slanted over her face and his smile was back, slow and pleased. “That you know of.”  
  
The stranger made to pluck the gold that had gathered on the spindle, and Belle bristled. Her own petite hand caught his wrist, and she used a gentle force to turn him a step back, placing herself with little grace between him and the gleaming thread. He was an intruder, and though she could only, at her best, stall until Rumpelstiltskin arrived, she would make sure the stranger would not touch what belonged to her employer, but the spinning wheel was without question forbidden. It was Rumpelstiltskin’s, and Belle would not have someone else touching what didn’t belong to them in what she considered her home.   
  
“Be that as it may, I suggest we not test the theory,” she said, and plucked the gold aside. She carefully curled it so it wouldn’t catch on anything, then sat upon the wheel, planting herself in between the stranger’s way to get any closer.  
  
Belle only realized after a few moments of tight, tense silence that he was staring at her. She looked up and found his eyes narrowed, his lips slightly parted, and his hand frozen in midair when she has touched him. Belle’s fingers curled into the filmy white fabric of her apron, and she licked her lips against the hammering of her heart. Watching his fingers furl, Belle’s stomach tightened and supposed that this stranger was not a man easily rebuked.  
  
Slowly, their visitor knelt before her, and Belle was more than acutely aware of his hands sliding to rest on either side of her perch on the wheel. He leaned further into her space as if drinking the air she breathed, his eyes searching her face with such rapt attention that she wondered if he could read her thoughts. The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end, but she did not lean away from him. Instead, Belle raised her chin carefully against the intimidation and the twitch at the corner of his mouth seemed amused.  
  
“Oh yes, I see why you are his,” he whispered not unlike a man admiring a work of art. Belle could only think about remembering to breathe deep and slow. He tilted his head, his dark hair brushing his shoulders. His voice, velvety and intimate wrapped around her like a ribbon, “What are you, I wonder?”  
  
Belle had not the presence of mind to answer, so fallen beneath whatever spell his voice was casting. But as luck would have it, she did not need to.  
  
Two warm hands rested on Belle’s shoulders from behind, “She is mine.”   
  
The heat of a presence both powerful and ancient pressed at her back, and Belle’s eyes slid closed in gratefulness. Sighing softly, she resisted the urge to lean back into the welcome warmth.  
  
Rumpelstiltskin held her gently but firm, his touch searing through the simple fabric of her dress. His thumbs created circles behind her shoulders, deliberately careful movements. His voice was, for the first time Belle had ever witnessed in front of another guest, controlled and deeper in register. “And I think next time, should you choose to present yourself so rudely unannounced in front of the lady of my castle, you have the courtesy of introducing yourself.”  
  
The guest rose from crouching before Belle, his smile melted from his cool face. “I thought I was to be expected.”  
  
“By me, you were,” Rumpelstiltskin squeezed Belle’s shoulders, and when the man stepped back she all but sagged under his touch as the weave of the enchantment was severed. “I am the one they whisper  Deal-maker and  Dark One . Within my walls, you are guest, but you will do well to remember this.”  
  
The cold blue gaze flickered down to Belle. Devoid of mirth or amusement, their guest nodded, “Of course.”  
  
For a moment, all three of them were silent, waiting, until Rumpelstiltskin leaned down to Belle’s shoulder. His lips brushed the hair near her ear, his breath warm against her skin. His hands slipped from her shoulders down over her arms, and it was so intimate, Belle shivered. “Bring us tea, dearie, if you don’t mind.”  
  
Powerless to speak, Belle nodded numbly and stood on shaky legs. She stole a glance at Rumpelstiltskin, his intimidating figure making a fine cut in gold silk, black brocade and leather. He caught her eyes. Folding his hands behind his back, he nodded once in reassurance, and Belle restrained herself from hurrying from the room, and from looking behind her as the doors closed at her leave.  
  
What she was feeling wasn’t fear, and it puzzled Belle to feel something she couldn’t put a name to. She took her time preparing the tea tray, arranging the delicate painted porcelain, accounting for the sugar, honey, and lemon, and caught herself, making sure to add the irregular third cup. She no longer had to remind herself to choose the chipped cup for Rumpelstiltskin, and it was pleasantly familiar to know how he took his tea, plain and strong with one lemon slice.   
  
With more confidence in her posture and a slightly restless mind and heart, Belle carried the silver tea tray back into the great hall. Both men (for she would not think of Rumpelstiltskin as anything less no matter his opinion on the subject) now sat at the table, Rumpelstiltskin in his normal placing at the head and their guest to his left. The atmosphere was calmer but no less tense, and she knew they’d just finished having words about something from the way Rumpelstiltskin steepled his fingers and looked up at her arrival with a greater ease than his rigid stance she had left him in.  
  
As Belle set the tray down, busying her hands with their daily custom, she couldn’t help but notice the visitor’s fingers curling on the polished oak of the table. She felt Rumpelstiltskin’s eyes on her face, and when she turned to serve him first, she met his gaze and found the most peculiar look of pleased and admiring amusement. She couldn’t tell if he was going to laugh at her and call her a fool, or praise her and kiss her hand. It was not an unbecoming look, and Belle suppressed her own smile as she nudged his teacup closer.  
  
When she turned back to the tray, Belle hesitated, glancing at their strange visitor. He was running a hand through his hair and looking down at the floor, his other hand tapping his fingers upon his knee. Belle didn’t know if he even liked tea, or if she should be presumptuous and simply serve him. After his effect on her before, she was less enthusiastic to engage in any conversation with the man. Belle looked at Rumpelstiltskin for help, but he was smiling now in the most devious way, and she realized that he would not help her. Now that she was out of any variation of danger, Rumpelstiltskin was going to see what she would do.  
  
Well, it was her home, now, and whether their guest was a demon or a sorcerer or an  ogre , she would not let them bully her into feeling uneasy. With resolve, Belle poured tea, leaving it plain, and set it before their guest. She ignored him as he looked up in surprise and sat down at her own place at Rumpelstiltskin’s right, the seat closest to the fire, pouring her own cup.   
  
It wasn’t until her second spoon of honey when their guest’s voice, full of distaste, asked flatly, “What is that.”  
  
Belle looked up with feigned innocence, carefully stirring her spoon. “Do you not know what tea is?”  
  
The stranger narrowed his blue eyes at her. “Of course, I do. Why did you give it to me.”  
  
Shrugging her dainty shoulders in a rather unladylike habit, Belle raised her own rim to her lips to cover her smile and answered sweetly, “You seemed like you needed it.”  
  
Rumpelstiltskin snorted appreciatively, and it was all Belle could do to keep her smile down as the man glanced between them, the joke utterly lost on him. He cast a dark look at Belle before turning to Rumpelstiltskin, saying, “I expected privacy.”  
  
“What you expect and what I offer are two very different things,” the Dark One lilted. He set his cup down and threaded his fingers together, resting them over his chest. “Have no fear, I will solve your little problem, and none shall be the wiser.”  
  
“How do I know your lady can be trusted?”  
  
Belle pretended not to be miffed that she was being talked about as if she were vapor, sipping her tea primly. She’d been present for almost all of Rumpelstiltskin’s deals he’d made at home, and at first she’d been uncomfortable to be in the room with the Dark One and the desperate soul he fed off of. She had made her concerns known to him after the second encounter. She had not wanted to know about his more conniving whiles, and she certainly didn’t want to witness the gravity of another person’s need.   
  
But Rumpelstiltskin’s reply had been simple, yet sense enough to soothe Belle’s worries, “It does my patron a bigger favor, in the end, dearie, when you’re present. They seem to feel more at ease with another human in the room, bright and precious as you are. You put their fears to rest that I would skin them for their pelts and take their virgins in the night.”  
  
Preoccupied with her own embarrassment in witnessing, Belle had sputtered, “But isn’t a- a more fearful person easier to deal with?”  
  
Rumpelstiltskin had smiled a dark smile, “‘Tis easier for the spider to feed when the fly is stunned, than wrestle with its struggle,” he’d drawn his scaly claws through her chestnut curls laying over her shoulder and leaned closer into her, “You are the finest honey to catch with, dearie.”  
  
Rumpelstiltskin giggled maniacally, jarring Belle back to the present and began tapping his fingers along the porcelain ridges of the chipped cup. His eyes, though, held no mirth. In fact, they were quite cold, gleaming like the wintry lake of the estate, set upon their guest without question, “You presume I keep distrustful company?”  
  
Belle felt anxiety prickle up her spine like needles. She’d never seen Rumpelstiltskin look so cruelly delighted, and she felt a rush of relief knowing this change in his demeanor was not directed at her.   
  
Their guest seemed more at ease than she was, sitting back in his chair. “Even the closest kept company can betray. Blood bonds are known for it, family especially. Those you live with, dine with, speak with,” the stranger’s eyes flickered to Belle, “ Amuse yourself with.”  
  
“You mean love,” Belle narrowed her eyes.  
  
Their guest inclined his head toward her with a satisfied glance. “If you want to put a name to it.”  
  
“Names have power, dearie,” Rumpelstiltskin warned, a neutral contribution to the topic. His eyes were cast down upon his cup, his finger tracing the rim with adept precision.  
  
“I should hope so. Love deserves a name,” Belle didn’t realize she was smiling until after she’d started speaking, losing herself in the truth of her words, “It’s pure and honest, something no one can take away from you, but to be given freely. Even the darkest of souls, with love, have light.”  
  
The man across from her stared for the longest moment before he snickered, and though Belle was not prone to violence, the sound was so mocking that she wished she could hurl her cup at him. He rubbed his chin, leaning his elbow on the armrest to gaze at Belle. When she remained austere, his smile withered, and he met her in severity.   
  
“Oh, pretty little thing,” he crooned, his blue eyes seeing right through to her heart. “Love is an illusion,” warm breath on the back of her neck made Belle yelp in fright, and a reflection of the stranger leered over her shoulder, whispering, “A quick catch of light in a mirror, not a truth and certainly not pure, but an instrument to be played and a tool to be used,” another clone of the man leaned against her chair beside her, smirking down at Belle with a cool assurance. “Ward yourself from love, little thing. You may see it as a flower, if you wish-it may even grow for you.”  
  
A hand from the spectral behind her caressed her hair, and Belle jumped in her seat, “But that flower will procure thorns and brambles, twisting and twining about your ankles...”  
  
The still seated guest sitting across from her smiled widely, flashing his teeth in a feral grin at the sight of the tears pricking Belle’s eyes, “And when you stumble, there is no rising again.”  
  
Belle swallowed hard, voice rough with emotion, “I believe in love even when I don’t feel it.”  
  
The man laughed again, a handsome sound if not for how his smile twisted his face and left his eyes empty. “Believing in a feeling does not make it true.”  
  
“Love is not just a feeling,” Belle’s reply was quiet, but scathing. “It is something you do.”  
  
“ Enough ,” Rumpelstiltskin slammed his cup upon the table, and the two mirrors at Belle’s chair vanished, leaving the three of them alone again. The Dark One glared at his visitor, setting him with a wild gaze, off centered, pupils dilated and mismatched. “You will behave yourself in my presence.”  
  
“We were conversing, I don’t see the harm.”  
  
“You were projecting your own troublesome family problems is what you were doing, dearie,” Rumpelstiltskin bared his horrible teeth, twittering his fingers. “Don’t think I didn’t notice.”  
  
The two men watched each other for longer than Belle could hold her breath, and it was surprisingly Rumpelstiltskin who spoke first, his voice masked with a merry lightness that told the listener to be wary, “If you should want our transaction to go through smoothly, I suggest you pay the lady an apology.”  
  
When both men looked at Belle, she slipped on a mask of cool neutrality. Their guest seemed to regard her as nothing more than a bug he’d rather swat aside, but with a roll of his eyes he muttered, “My sincere regrets for any distress I may have caused you.”  
  
It was not genuine at all, and Belle was willing to bet her first born that it had been said with more venom than sincerity, but it seemed to have the desired effect of dispelling the remaining tension in the air. Rumpelstiltskin clapped his hands together, leaping up from his chair with buoyancy. The darkness had all but receded from his face for the moment, and Belle relaxed her posture, only realizing then that she had been gripping her teacup in a white knuckled grasp. Setting it upon the table, her fingers sore, she flexed her hands nervously as their visitor stood as well.   
  
“I shall expect results, as you know,” the man in the dark robes passed Rumpelstiltskin, flattening his palms together in a pensive gesture as he left the table. Belle made to stand, but Rumpelstiltskin put his hand out to stay her and turned on his heel, following his patron to the wide double doors.  
  
“Yes, yes, of course,” the Dark One twittered, his voice almost lost beneath the sound of the oncoming storm as thunder struck. “Let’s get you home before your brother comes looking...”  
  
Belle frowned in suspicion, watching them go. Turning, Rumpelstiltskin smiled cryptically at Belle before waving his hands and closing the doors behind him, leaving his caretaker in the great hall alone with a crackling fire.  
  
Her bones felt like water, and the room seemed oddly tilted. She was not a confrontational person by nature, yet the words she’d exchanged in the heat of the moment with Rumpelstiltskin’s guest left her feeling sated and self-assured. She hoped that her outburst had not soiled the deal, but she would never take back the words she’d said.   
  
She was in the middle of gathering the cups and reassembling the tray when the doors opened again and Rumpelstiltskin returned alone, hands behind his back and his lips pursed in a not-quite-smile. He seemed pleased enough, and Belle looked down at her occupation, rearranging the silver ware and the teapot to avoid looking at him. “All is well?”  
  
“Is it?” he challenged, and she felt his presence again, a pleasing warmth she couldn’t put a name to pressing near her side. It was intimate in no way a caress or loving touch ever could be. She felt his gaze on her face, and Belle stilled her hands, laying her palms flat on the table.   
  
“I spoke out of turn,” she conceded, her eyes flickering up hesitantly. “I’m sorry.”  
  
“No need to apologize, dearie, you quite flustered him,” her employer giggled, his eyes dancing and not leaving her face. He was practically bouncing on his feet.  
  
“Well he seemed collected enough,” she snorted.  
  
“Master of illusion, that one,” Rumpelstiltskin nodded, stepping away and meandering to his spinning wheel, righting the stool she’d knocked aside earlier. “But rest assured, he was quite ready to make a second deal.”  
  
“Oh? Whatever for?” Belle frowned, lifting the tray.  
  
Rumpelstiltskin tilted his head to the side, grinning wryly as he took his seat at his wheel. “Why, for you, dearie.”   
  
“Me!” Belle all but squeaked and very nearly dropped the tray. She gaped at Rumpelstiltskin helplessly, and his blatant nonchalance did not soothe her shock. Even the thunder rolling outside in dark clouds did not jarr her.   
  
“Oh yes, he was quite prepared to whisk you away. Spoke of making you a goddess, giving you a throne,” Rumpelstiltskin shrugged his shoulders too carefreely, staying pointedly faced toward his wheel. “Of course, all know that I do not barter pieces of my collection.”  
  
“I’m your maid,” Belle protested.  
  
Rumpelstiltskin giggled, “ He didn’t know that,” he hummed at the back of his throat. “He seemed to believe the lady of my castle was more than met the eye.”  
  
Belle’s stomach was coiled in a fit of nerves, but watching the rigid posture and jerky movements of her master’s hand on the wheel, which was normally so relaxed and smooth, she narrowed her eyes. “And you refused him?”  
  
The idea of Rumpelstiltskin putting any sort of claim on her was, against her better judgment, thrilling. They had grown quite close in the past few months, dancing around each other for fear of getting too close...  
  
Belle pushed aside the thought, feeling like a foolish girl. He had only done it to protect her, nothing more.  
  
“I offered a substitute that of which he was not interested in.”  
  
On quiet feet, Belle crept closer, holding the tea tray tight in her hands until she stood just below the platform, trying to catch a glimpse of Rumpelstiltskin’s profile that was so tactfully shielded by his hair. “You deal with some very dark men,” she ventured.  
  
Rumpelstiltskin scoffed, “Yes, well, he has some past troubles to attend to.” He made quick work of recounting the tale to her, which left her mind reeling. Witnessing magic was one thing, but seeing a true legend, one far older than Rumpelstiltskin himself, left her quite speechless.  
  
“How terrible,” Belle muttered, shaking her head slowly as she thought on the story. “The poor thing.”  
  
Rumpelstiltskin’s hands froze on the wheel before he spun on his stool to face her. His hands rested on his knees as he gazed at her with a face masked in bemusement. But something deeper lingered on the edges when he said, “Dearie, you have a very odd perception of men and their plights.”  
  
“He has done dark things,” Belle allowed with a nod, her eyes downcast in thought. “But his father let him go so easily. I can not fault him for such a sin as regretting to not belong to a family,” she shrugged her shoulders, “I should think the true villain is his father for letting him go.”  
  
When she looked up, Rumpelstiltskin had turned back to his spinning, though his elbows were on his knees and his hands were clasped together, gazing out the window. His shoulders dropped, and he leaned forward as if he were ill. “Rumpelstiltskin?”  
  
“Run along now, dearie,” the Dark One said, his words spoken carefully as if he was fighting not to say more. Or perhaps willing himself to say anything at all.   
  
Belle felt at a loss as if she’d done something wrong. She could sense the slide of Rumpelstiltskin’s mood like descending piano keys into something hurtful and chaotic. She hated to take that moment to retreat to the kitchen, like she was running from him, but her heart lightened when she closed the door behind her to the resuming sound of the creaking spinning wheel.  
  
Good , Belle thought,  perhaps he will forget.  
  
Remembering the mirrored spectrals whispering in her ear, touching her hair, and that mocking smile, Belle vowed she would not interfere in another of Rumpelstiltskin’s deals again.


	2. The king

Belle was fond of flowers; unfortunately, she couldn’t tend them to save her life.  
  
Upon finding the rather bleak situation of his prized exotic Agrabahn snapping dragons (that actually snapped), Rumpelstiltskin had generously taken gardening off of Belle’s list of chores, more so to spare his flora and the state of his grounds than Belle’s time and patience, but she was thankful just the same. The first of spring set in, and Belle found she enjoyed taking a book from the library and retiring in the garden, listening to the hooting owls and the dripping ice from the thawing tree branches.  
  
Rumpelstiltskin had warned her to avoid the lake and to most certainly never set foot into the dark water. It was black at night and bottomless, and while Belle considered herself brave, in such cases her curiosity was squelched by common sense. She couldn’t imagine how it would be dangerous- swans and ducks floated aimlessly over the dark, glassy surface and didn’t seem to be bothered at all. When it got a bit warmer, she could imagine that it would feel wonderful to go for a swim. But Rumpelstiltskin had given her almost complete free rein of the Dark Castle; if there was a reason he forbid her from something, it was a good one, and she did not intend on finding out why.  
  
Instead, she found a spot just off the lake’s shore beneath a large pine tree. She nestled herself in the spindly roots that crept above the soil, her book propped against her knees under the cover of growing starlight, and enjoyed the solitude and crisp night air. It wasn’t that the castle was suffocating, nor was Rumpelstiltskin entirely unpleasant company, but there was something to be said for the freedom of being outdoors, being on one’s own, that Belle had come to miss. She hadn’t had time to herself as a knight’s daughter and found more than she might wish for as a maid- but she also found that her time spent by herself during her chores was being lonely, not simply being alone.  
  
The night she reconciled that little truth was the first night the barn owl perched on the garden wall. She knew that Rumpelstiltskin kept a stable on the castle grounds, though she had not ventured inside, and if the poor thing had made it this far into the mountains, it was probably a permanent resident now. It was a beautiful bird, with tinges of golden brown along the crown of its head and wings. Belle smiled and tried to coo toward it, holding her hand out invitingly. Instead, the owl flew off, as silent as it had come.   
  
The next two nights it appeared in the same way in the same spot, but Belle had thought ahead. She’d acquired a little pouch and filled it with nuts and seeds from the kitchen stores and sprinkled them about her feet before the owl appeared.   
  
The first attempt, he’d flown close enough for Belle to reach out and touch, but she dare not try for fear she’d scare him away. The second time he lingered, hopping closer and closer and pecking at the seeds before taking Belle by surprise and fluttering close, perching just on her knee. His claws were sharp even against the thick fabric of her dress and stockings beneath, but her success weighed more.  
  
Breaking into a grin, but biting her lip to keep from startling him with any noise, Belle slowly reached up a hand and caressed the owl’s wing in the lightest of touches. It gave an appreciative flutter before quirking its head to the side, and Belle resisted shifting in her spot. The clarity with which the owl regarded her was unnerving, his white feathers glowing under the moonlight.  
  
“Aren’t you a lovely thing,” Belle whispered, stroking the side of its head with the back of her fingers, her book forgotten in her lap. The owl seemed content enough with her touches, until it flapped its wings and took off into the thick of the trees. With a sigh, Belle picked herself up with her book and headed back into the castle, trekking up the flagstone steps and carrying the fatigue of a day of accomplished chores on her shoulders.  
  
When she opened the doors to the great hall, Belle yelped and stumbled right into the master of the castle. His hands shot out, cupping her upper arms to steady her as he himself fell a step back. His eyes were wide and unfocused as he took her in, and Belle let out nervous laughter. “I’m- I’m so sorry,” she sputtered, looking up at him with a shy smile.  
  
Rumpelstiltskin stared at her long, having gone so still that Belle felt her skin prickle with anxiety. When he released her arms, a jerky withdraw of his hands, he took another step back from her as if offended, and his eyes narrowed into dark slits. The dark mossy silk of his shirt and amber brown waistcoat made his scaly skin glow in the candlelight, shimmering gold and green and grey. But his face twisted as if he caught a foul odor and he bared his teeth, “What have you done?”  
  
Belle’s smile fell, and she suddenly felt cold all over. In her weeks of learning the Dark Castle and its master, she’d been cautious in all things, having been warned of magic and how easy it was to bite back. She had learned Rumpelstiltskin’s rules and taken them to heart, for by nature, Belle did not like confrontation. Now, hearing his voice fraying with irritation and watching his hands flex at his sides, Belle’s heart was in her throat. “I- I haven’t done anything,” she whispered, feeling suddenly small and insignificant in the face of the Dark One.  
  
For the longest while, Belle held her breath at the look Rumpelstiltskin was measuring her with, as if seeing through her, and she felt true fear at the idea of him being able to enter her mind. But then he took a step forward and grabbed her again, not tightly but firm, leaning his face close to hers before dipping to her neck and inhaling against the skin of her throat and shoulder.  
  
Belle gasped, her eyes fluttering, and she was sure had Rumpelstiltskin not had a hold of her she would have crumpled at his feet. “W-What are you doing!” she squeaked, before shoving against his chest and simultaneously pulling back, staring up at him in shock.  
  
“What have you been up to, I wonder,” crooned the Dark One, his voice laced with cruelty and suspicion. His hands were still on her arms, keeping her close and steady, but his fingertips drummed against her skin.  
  
“Nothing,” Belle breathed, lost on his meaning. She shook her head helplessly, the heat of him so close making her dizzy. She could feel his power now, trailing like a heavy mist and curling about her. She licked her lips, raising her eyes to meet his gaze, her voice quiet to mask her unease, “I was reading in the garden. That’s-that’s all.”  
  
And for a long terrible moment, Belle wasn’t sure that Rumpelstiltskin knew who she was, as if they’d never met. She wasn’t sure he could see that she was telling the truth. She could only hear the rush of her own breathing and the crackling fire beyond them within the hall. Then he frowned, pulling his hands away from her only to point a finger, wagging it just before her nose. “You have magic on you, dearie.”  
  
Belle blinked at him. “I beg your pardon?”  
  
“You’ve been meddling in something, haven’t you.”  
  
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Belle frowned, her nose ruffling in distaste as the cruelly assuming tone his voice took on. She hugged her book to her chest and stepped around him in a gentle swirl of turquoise skirts and lady’s dignity. “But you are in no fit mood for company and now, neither am I.”  
  
Belle knew she should have spoken with more respect, but at the same time she could not tame her tongue in the heat of such an accusation. She had worked for him for months, and she had been more than attentive and thorough in her chores and duties. She had been honest and loyal, as well, and for a time she had felt as though they had reached a common ground of trust, unbalanced and perhaps papery thin, but it had been there.  She  had thought so; apparently he felt otherwise.  
  
Though, he had been on edge for several days. He had told her one bright and cheerful morning that he expected another visitor within the fortnight, Belle’s first since the god of mischief had appeared before her at the spinning wheel, but this time was different. Rumpelstiltskin appeared more agitated with each passing day. He was both snappish and sheepish, sharp and apologetic all in the space of a few moments whenever they spoke, and it left Belle feeling quite helpless. She wanted to help him or offer him something in the way of comfort, yet every time he seemed to accept her olive branch, her warm, gentle Rumpelstiltskin became the Dark One again, mocking and impish.  
  
Her annoyance cooled to melancholy the next day as she found herself dusting the beautiful glass windowed cabinets of his collection, the reflection of the snow covered mountains and the melting forests outside shining against the panes. She had never been one for athletics or hard-won children’s games outside, but Belle had always loved the taste and scent of nature. Being cooped up inside during the winter months had made it more apparent to her how much she valued the world beyond her windows, and she decided that her mind and heart could be cleared with a bit more exposure to the fresh spring night air.  
  
The garden called to her again.  
  
After grabbing her pouch of breadcrumbs and seeds from the kitchen, Belle left her employer to his own devices in his turret, not bothering to take the time to inform him of her evening plans. In fact, the more time spent apart, the more irritated she grew over how he seemed to be avoiding her in return. She felt he owed her an apology at least; she doubted her resolve only briefly in the worry that she might be acting out, childish and silly, but the memory of his hands on her arms and his mouth so close to her neck brought a flush to her face that she couldn’t explain. And oh, Belle hated not being able to explain how she felt.   
  
Yes, fresh air was the best idea.  
  
Winding her way through the courtyard, Belle could smell the newly blooming flowers as she picked her way through the shrubs and hedges. It was warmer that night, warm as it had been since she’d arrived in that early fall, and feeling a bit brave, Belle slipped her shoes off with delicate fingers and let her toes sink into the grass, rolling up on the balls of her feet in the rich, black soil. A thrill danced through her low in her belly through to the top of her head, and she felt simply  girlish . She wanted to run and dance and climb and fly, to do all the things a knight’s daughter was never allowed because it would have been unladylike.   
  
Instead, she walked through the garden towards the lake. She did not let herself close enough to even mistake for stepping into the dark water, but she cast bread crumbs upon the surface, smiling as she watched the ducks and swans mill about to gobble them up. A simple thing, but it brought her more joy than she’d felt in a long while.  
  
With the moonlight against her back, Belle saw a shadow of wings and talons over her shoulder, and she knew her little owl friend had returned. She kept quiet though, so as not to frighten him, humming under her breath, “There you are.”   
  
Peeking over her shoulder, Belle saw the owl perched on the garden wall- but this time, he had brought something with him. She tossed a few more crumbs out to the ducks before gathering some seeds and making her way over. In a gesture of friendship and good humor, Belle spread some of the seeds on the stones, her eyes widening when the owl hopped over to meet her. He plucked a few up and gave Belle a moment to see what he’d brought.  
  
It was the prettiest peach she’d ever laid eyes on.  
  
A lovely shade of bittersweet, the fruit was perfectly whole and just on the good side of ripe. Belle plucked it up, running her fingers over the soft skin before lifting it to her lips and inhaling. It was sweeter and more fragrant than any perfume. Twirling the stem with which the owl had delivered it, Belle pinched it off before smiling and nodding in thanks at the owl. It watched her with wide, black eyes, too knowing and clear, so when Belle sunk her teeth into the skin of the fruit and made her way back to her favorite spot beneath the tree, she half hoped it would be gone by the time she looked back. Instead, tasting the most delicious fruit in the world, Belle felt a rush of heat flood her face and a tantalizing hum in her chest. Her mind sparkled dizzyingly, and Belle had to catch herself against the trunk of the tree, putting her palm out to catch herself.  
  
Everything was a haze, and her vision shimmered at the top and dissolved at the bottom until everything around her faded away. Only dimly aware she’d dropped the fruit, Belle crumbled to her knees at the base of the tree, and the last thing she would recall before fainting was the flutter of wings and a low, earthy satisfied laugh.  
  
\---  
  
When she awoke, Belle found herself in a darkened drawing room and laid across a soft settee. The door was just ajar enough to let a sliver of light spill across the floor, and she slowly sat up to let her eyes adjust. When she felt centered enough to stand, she almost tripped forward, and, catching a glimpse of herself in a tall looking glass, gasped at her reflection.  
  
Turning her body slowly, she looked upon herself and could not recognize who she was. She was clothed in the most revealing and exquisite gown she’d ever seen, a confection of gold satin and gauzy white tulle, full skirted, embroidered with pearls and glass in delicate clusters that twinkled and glowed; a work of art ingeniously crafted to catch the light, no matter how dim. The delicately crinkled bustle was a waterfall at the small of her back from a bejeweled gilded bodice fixed with a white gold setting that left her back naked down to her waist. It was completely, utterly sleeveless save for a delicate and sheer white film that fluttered off her shoulders and down her arms to clasp at her wrists in golden circlets, yet they were slashed, bared her arms, shoulders, and bosom.   
  
Her cheeks, decolletage, and collar had been dusted with shimmering powder, and when she peered closer into the mirror, her hair, half taken up in curls, was arranged with elegant white feathers that brushed her lower neck.   
  
Belle had never felt so vulnerable, nor so frighteningly beautiful. Indeed, she could not see herself in the shade.  
  
It was only then that she found the mask hanging on the post of the mirror, tied with two white silk ribbons and a note tucked inside. White satin with a golden sheen, it was just enough to cover half her face in a silver crescent. Belle untied the bow and caught the note before it fell. Unfolding the parchment, there was only one line scrawled in an elegant script.   
  
I’ll place the moon within your heart.  
  
The words were pretty, but Belle couldn’t think of who would compose them for her. The only person near so eloquent and close enough to her...   
  
Folding the note in half, Belle laid it on a table within the room and took the mask with her as she tiptoed to the door where she could hear a choir of strings building a waltz. Laughter and song echoed all around, and as she stepped out of the dark and into the glittering ballroom of ornate costumes of taffeta and silk, twirling couples drunk on Delight, Belle knew she had strayed into a dream. It was a hall of gold and mirrors, candelabras as tall as trees lining the room with a fountain  at the center with statues of goddesses come to life to mingle with the living.   
  
Masques of animals, flowers, elements, and spectres whirled around her, and Belle felt utterly lost in the bedlam of frivolity, moving slowly as if she’d drunk too much. Every glimpse of a face, man and woman alike, seemed familiar to Belle, but they were concealed just enough to cause her to doubt. She tried to make them out, but they moved so quickly, always away from her as if she were the dream and not they. It was mystical, and she knew it was unreal, she could taste the magic in the air. Yet it was not like the magic she had experienced before, the ancient power like the earth after a storm. It was more sparkling and heady, thick like summer wine and just as intoxicating.  
  
The music was deeply hypnotic, alive with grandeur that swept Belle up in the decadent spell of dance. With every turn of her head she caught the glance of a mirror, reflecting the shimmering golden light, throwing the shades of a hundred dancers twirling, laughing, spinning, singing. Yet out of the corner of her eye remained a darkness where beauty rotted, and the people around her turned with greying skin and sharpened teeth. When she tried to look them on directly, all was pristine once more. They were never looking at her, but she could feel that they saw her.  
  
Belle weaved through the dancers, stumbling over the soft slippers she wore. Coming to the far side of the hall, the mirrored walls opened to a beautiful courtyard beyond. The warmth of the masquerade at her back was almost a living, breathing thing trying to hug her back inside, but Belle’s curiosity led her forward like a lover cradling her hand, and she stepped out into the moonlit scenery. It was silent and still, not even a breeze disturbing the solitude.  
  
A shade cut across the night followed by hushed fluttering, and Belle turned just in time to see the owl from the Dark Castle’s courtyard, but as he flew closer the air about the animal shimmered and shifted. Belle’s eyes could not discern between magic and dreamscape, barely catching the transformation of animal to man as his brown leather boots hit the smooth garden path. His white feathered cape, draped around both arms over a gilded brocade waistcoat, fluttered behind him as he strode towards her. He was slight and slender, not very tall nor handsome and yet his presence was so commanding that Belle was quite taken with him. He was dressed like that of his owl counterpart, from the top of his spiky, gold mane to the white feathered mask held in his hand.  
  
“I can hear your thoughts turning across the universe- tell me, does it ever get tiresome, thinking so much?” he asked coyly, his voice cool and lazy. His gait was light as he came to stand before her, and Belle was quite unsettled with his eyes as he invaded her space so smoothly. They were blue with mismatched pupils, and she found them to be colder than she would have anticipated in such a creature.  
  
Rumpelstiltskin’s eyes were a mottled green and never quite focused entirely on her, changing color and size like his moods, but they always  saw  her. These eyes now did not see her, but through her, past her, into something deeper or perhaps to something that was not there at all.  
  
Belle’s breath caught, only realizing then how bare she was against the night air. But she did not move, only straightening when he smiled at her folding arms, and managed, “How- how did you do that?”  
  
“Do what?” He cocked his head to the side before his eyes widened, one pupil widening to the size of a coin before he smiled with his teeth. “Ah,” he fluttered his fingers along the edge of his mask. “Elemental transmutation. It's easy, really.”  
  
Belle ruffled her nose, peering up at him. She found herself more drawn to him than she could imagine-something about him, something not quite magic yet certainly not human either pulled her closer. Sighing softly, her fingers curled around her arms as she hugged herself, murmuring, “I beg your pardon, sir. I’m not quite sure where I am.”  
  
“You’re in a dream, Belle,” his voice was smooth and silky, wrapping around her like a ribbon. “Your dream. I made it for you,” he said, smiling brighter, his eyes twinkling like uneven stars. “Do you like it?”  
  
“You made this?” she asked, glancing around the courtyard. She didn’t know how to believe such a thing, but she peered back up at him, eyes narrowing. If this was, by some magic unknown to her, the same owl she’d seen in Rumpelstiltskin’s garden...   
  
“I’m sorry, but do I know you?” Her voice was calmer than she felt. In truth she was restless, agitated. As beautiful as it was, it didn’t truly feel _ right_.  
  
“You can, if you like,” the man said with a throaty laugh, but there was a touch of condescension. If there was one thing Belle hated, it was being laughed at. He tilted his head to the other side before fondly tapping her nose with his fingertip, “How starved you must be, how neglected for company, living with the Dark One.”  
  
Belle fluttered her eyes, a blush creeping up her neck. “I don’t-” she choked on her words though, and she faltered because it was true. She did miss the company of others, of her family and friends. They had been few and far between, little and perhaps not the most interesting group of people, but Belle had loved them because they were hers. Being pulled apart like thread had sown melancholy in her heart, and no matter how fond she was of the man whose castle she shared, that didn’t change.  
  
“Of course anyone would be,” the man breezed on, giving a languid sigh. “Our dear Rumpelstiltskin is not desirable company even on his best days,” he gave an easy shrug before leaning conspiratorially closer, “I told him years ago he should stop trying to entertain.”  
  
“Well, he... he does have his moods,” Belle admitted, but it felt like a kind of betrayal now that she said it outloud. But was it not true? Rumpelstiltskin did get off on the wrong foot more than the right, it seemed. He might be more relaxed and more of a man behind his castle walls, but that didn’t mean he didn’t fought with himself and what he was. His tempers were foul and prone to cruelty and mockery, and Belle had more than once been on the receiving end by simply standing too close within ear shot.  
  
“And he makes you cook and clean and fetch and carry,” the stranger tutted, and Belle didn’t know when he’d gotten closer, but suddenly his fingers were beneath her elbow, a simple touch that grew as his hand slid down her arm, warm and smooth and sending shivers down her back. “Lovely thing, I would serve you myself,” he said, and his lips twisted into something not quite a smile or smirk or grin, but he was pleased. Oh, yes, he was pleased.  
  
Belle did not flinch away but instead elected to remain perfectly still, holding his uneven gaze bravely. Her voice was quieter, hushed, licking her lips before asking, “Why did you want me here?”  
  
The stranger circled around her, his fingers playing along her arm and across her shoulders. It was unnerving, and worse it tickled, but Belle held herself as still as she could, not bending under his gaze. His breath at her ear made her gasp when he purred, “To give you this dream, of course,” he stepped around to see her face again, smiling kindly, “I’m offering you an escape, Belle. Don’t you see? Rumpelstiltskin need not bar you from the world in his cage of stone and dust. I can give you dreams you’ve never even imagined, never even thought were possible.”  
  
“You would... dissolve the deal that I took?” Belle asked, shaking her head gently, trying to understand. Whoever this man was, he was interested in her, enough to offer her an escape, but Belle couldn’t think of it that way. Her situation didn’t need an  escape . She had no desire to... to get away from her new life.  
  
“Darling, I would take you with me,” the stranger sighed wistfully, and when Belle was too stunned to answer, he traced his finger along her jaw with a slow smile. “I will give you room to think it over. Enjoy your dream, love. It could be the first of many.”  
  
Belle almost thought he meant to embrace her when he stepped so close, their chests almost touching, but at the last moment he whispered past and back into the ballroom, leaving Belle alone in the flowering courtyard.  
  
Of course, she wasn’t going to agree.   
  
No, the man was completely dim if he thought she could be bought with magic, no matter how fetching he found her or how pretty he dazzled her with his creations. But the truth was that, if she let herself, she knew she could. She could already feel it, like the deeper pull of sleep curling itself around her, and he was right. Rumpelstiltskin did keep her from things, from a life she could have had and dreams she could have pursued...  
  
...but had she not made that choice herself?  
  
A gentle touch warmed at her waist, and Belle turned, bracing herself to book no refusals and nearly screamed in fright to find Rumpelstiltskin himself standing before her as if she’d called his name. His scaled dragonhide and leather were black against the shadows, embroidered in the deepest red, masquing a dragon. Belle quite thought it looked like they were veined, giving off a deception of a sheen of blood that coincided with the hunted look in his eyes and the feral tinge to his smile.  
  
“Rumpelstiltskin,” his name breathed like a sigh of relief on her lips, and his eyes fluttered for a moment. He was so collected almost all the time he spent with her, but there were the subtlest shifts to his expression that conveyed more than words could ever say. Had his hand not still been at her waist, Belle might have had the presence of mind to try to discern it.   
  
“So you’ve met the Goblin King,” sang the Dark One, twittering his fingers at her with a tight grimace.  
  
“Goblin?” Belle tilted her head, and she knew he must have meant her stranger. Well! If he was a goblin, he was the finest she had ever thought to see. “I suppose...” Belle wrinkled her nose. “He doesn’t look like a goblin.”  
  
Rumpelstiltskin grunted an agreement, withdrawing his hand quickly to clasp his fingers behind his back. “Magic can do many things. A simple glamor spell,” at Belle’s blank expression, Rumpelstiltskin rolled his eyes, “To change one’s appearance, you see. ‘tis easier to catch with a pretty face.”  
  
“Flies and honey,” Belle whispered fondly, swaying towards on her the tips of her slippers.   
  
Rumpelstiltskin’s face softened, hesitating in his own smile, “Exactly.”  
  
“Well then he doesn’t know me at all,” Belle sighed playfully, her heart thrilling when she met Rumpelstiltskin’s eyes, and he ducked his face shyly as she swayed closer. She fought her smile, not wanting to tease him. The last they had spoken was eggshell delicate, and she knew they both had to tread lightly if they didn’t want to break the small amount of understanding they were gaining, dream or not.  
  
“But you enjoy this,” Rumpelstiltskin leaned back on his heels, nodding to the courtyard and gesturing to the ball behind him. “This world he’s lavished on you.”  
  
Belle ruffled her nose, huffing, “I never asked to be lavished.”  
  
“No?” Rumpelstiltskin’s head snapped up, a smirk playing about his lips. “Is that not what all young ladies’ hopes and dreams entail? Jewels and gold and pretty dresses?” Suddenly Rumpelstiltskin took her hand up in his, and Belle gasped as he twirled her around, inspecting her new gown with appraising eyes. He spun her quickly, and Belle stumbled, nearly falling over herself and giggling. “Perhaps I see the allure,” he admitted, his voice a bit too thin and a touch too nonchalant.  
  
Belle raised an eyebrow challengingly, smirking, “Well gowns like these look even nicer on a lady when she dances.”   
  
The Dark One was suddenly very intrigued with his shoes, clearing his throat. “That does not sound like a wise idea, dearie.”  
  
With a sinking heart, Belle’s boldness withered and dropped like the petals of a rose. “But why?” The idea of a dance was exciting for her. It had been so long, almost a year since she’d been to a ball. The idea of dancing with Rumpelstiltskin, well...perhaps she wouldn’t have asked him herself at a ball in Avonlea, where people could see her embarrass herself, but the idea of just the two of them warmed her with giddiness, all the way down to her toes.  
  
Rumpelstiltskin blinked a vacant expression before giggling fiendishly, “You dancing, dearie? I fear you’d take down your partner in a tumble for the worse.”  
  
They shared a grin, and Belle giggled, “Fair enough,” she shrugged her shoulders lightly, looking down at her dress before twirling again, enjoying the way the pretty skirts whirled and the breeze that kissed her ankles. “Though I did always enjoy the look of dancing, even if I wasn’t good at it.”  
  
Rumpelstiltskin made a vague hum of agreement before he took one step forward and held out his hand. Belle came to a halt, her eyes glancing between his offer and the slightly anxious expression on his face. The moment was fragile, and just as his face began to fall, just as he started to drop his hand, Belle slipped her fingers over his palm and smiled. He drew her close, but not so much that she was uncomfortable. His hand splayed across her back, fingertips warm against her bare skin while his other cupped her own tenderly. He had perfect posture, and made up for where Belle’s clumsiness would make any other partner falter.  
  
“This is your dream, you know,” Rumpelstiltskin said after a moment, barely breathing. He lifted his eyes up and away from her, glancing around as if to make sure they weren’t being spied upon. “You can change it to suit yourself.”  
  
“I can?” Belle tilted her head up at him, catching his eyes again.   
  
“I can usher _ him  _out of your dream,” Rumpelstiltskin cautioned. “But you have to concentrate on it and remove what you do not wish to see.”  
  
She sighed a smiled, admitting, “I _ would  _like to go home.”  
  
Rumpelstiltskin hesitated when she caught his gaze and he gulped, nodding once. “Just focus.”  
  
Curling her fingers more securely in Rumpelstiltskin’s hand, her other draping over his shoulder and leaning into him for support, Belle closed her eyes. She had no idea how to begin to change a dream, but there wasn’t any reason why she couldn’t attempt it. Letting Rumpelstiltskin guide her in their dance, which was really more of a cautious swaying, Belle thought about the beautiful masquerade and the courtyard, about all the possibilities a dream world could represent and what she could do. She could see the world in her dreams without the risk of hurt or pain. She could meet kings and witches, scale mountains and swim in the sea if she so desired.  
  
Perhaps the stranger’s offer was more appealing than she had first given it credit for.  
  
But then Rumpelstiltskin’s voice was unfamiliarly deep, rich like newly turned summer soil when he whispered, “Make them all go away, Belle,” his hand at her back brought her closer until their chests touched, his cheek pressed to hers, arms enclosing about her, his scent and magic enveloping, “Make them all disappear, the good and bad, turn them out. It is your choice, dearie, your decision...” her own breathing trembled and she was sure her skin must burn him with her blushing, but then he pressed a kiss to her ear, “Leave only what you want.”  
  
The world around them seemed to inhale deeply, and Belle pressed her eyes closed, her fingers tight in Rumpelstiltskin’s, and then it stopped. They both breathed at the same time. When she opened her eyes, she was standing in her father’s castle, in the council room where she and Rumpelstiltskin had first met, and they were completely alone. Belle also realized that she was very much pressed against him, her head laid on his shoulder and her fingers entwined with his.  
  
Rumpelstiltskin, for his part, could only whisper, “You’re home.”  
  
“Oh,” Belle supposed he could only conjure her into this room within a dream because that was the only room he knew of her father’s castle. But then it occurred to her what he must have thought she had meant, and without lifting her head, more for fear of embarrassment than the want to see his face, Belle curled herself closer around him and whispered, trembling, “I meant... I meant  home ,” she said softly-and oh, how was she to say this?-and before she could stop herself, murmured, “Our home.”  
  
The last thing Belle could truly remember of her dream was Rumpelstiltskin holding her tighter.  
  
\---  
  
“I’ll sick a fox after you, you mangy git,” Rumpelstiltskin snapped. “Leave!”  
  
Belle blinked her eyes open blearily. She didn’t know where she was until she felt the soreness of her neck and the stiffness of her limbs. She was laying cradled between two large tree roots, and from her position, curled on her side with her arms pillowing her head, she could see Rumpelstiltskin throwing a rock over the garden wall and an answering screech of an owl as it flew off.  
  
Moving gently and as quietly as she could, Belle still drew his attention, and he was striding across the garden and kneeling down beside her before she could sit up. “What happened?” Belle asked slowly, her words laborious. Her mouth felt to be filled with cotton, her head foggy and muddled.  
  
Rumpelstiltskin steadied her with his hands on her shoulders until he leaned her back against the tree, a wry smile on his face. “You fell victim to a nasty spell,” Rumpelstiltskin said before pulling back, elbows on his thighs as he produced the very same peach the owl had brought.  
  
Belle blinked, staring blankly until he turned it and revealed the bite she’d taken from it, the flesh blackened and molded. Belle blanched, recoiling against the tree behind her, “That’s vile!”  
  
“That’s the fae.”  
  
Rubbing her forehead, Belle closed her eyes for a moment longer before yawning. “Oh, why am I so sleepy,” she murmured, but then felt something in her hair, her fingers brushing the crown of her head. “What in the world-”  
  
Rumpelstiltskin reached up and plucked the offending object away like a viper, holding it out for inspection. It was a garland of beautiful flowers, fat and blooming, the petals such a pale pink they were almost white. The scent was so sweet it was saccharine, and Belle tilted her head curiously, reaching out to touch them. “Ah, ah,” Rumpelstiltskin pulled the flowers away at the last moment, before standing up and pacing off.   
  
With a surprisingly good arm, he tossed the flowers into the lake.  
  
“Oh!” Belle gasped, pouting. “But they were ever so pretty- why couldn’t I keep them?”  
  
“They’re not just flowers, Belle. They’re a promise, and a nasty one at that. Don’t remember what I told you about glamor, dearie?” Rumpelstiltskin sang as he waltzed back to her. In one fluid motion he leaned down and swept Belle up into his arms, bouncing her once to earn a shocked squeal. How rigid he had been the first time he’d caught her falling from the curtains! He still held her away from himself and seemed to refuse to look her in the eye as he carried her back to the castle, but there was no doubt he wouldn’t let her fall.  
  
“Glamor,” Belle repeated slowly, grateful then that he had picked her up after all. Her mind felt so addled that she couldn’t try to walk and stay upright even if she wanted to. “Right.”  
  
“Peach blossoms,” Rumpelstiltskin muttered in disdain under his breath, tossing his head to open the castle doors. “I would have chosen roses.”  
  
Biting her lip, Belle ducked her head against the Dark One’s shoulder and smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Peach blossoms have been thought to represent "Long-life, generosity, and bridal hope."


	3. The mother

With spring’s fresh greenery and warming nights, Belle soon forgot the smell of peach blossoms and learned to read the stars.  
  
Ever since the escapade in the garden, Rumpelstiltskin had been more attentive to Belle and her pursuits. It seemed to her that he hadn’t planned on how she would occupy herself outside her chores, and with her growing restlessness in the wake of the changing seasons and the passing time, her curiosity waned and her boredom grew, two things of which the Dark One did not overlook. He had caught her daydreaming one evening, quiet against the crackling fire of the great hall as he sat before his spinning wheel, she seated in the windowsill and admiring the night sky and the mountainscape beyond.  
  
In a plain white linen blouse and a brown cotton skirt still damp from scrubbing the flagstones, Belle had not bothered to change, simply choosing to warm herself by the fire with the intention of relaxing between the crinkled pages of a book from the library. She had nearly read a book a day after Rumpelstiltskin had shown her the room (more like vault) of floor to ceiling book shelves two stories high. Yet Rumpelstiltskin had more than just books- he had tomes and scrolls, grimoires and journals, even an entire cartography section with the most ancient maps Belle had ever seen.  
  
“You may come here whenever you wish,” Rumpelstiltskin said lightly, his voice almost bored with the idea as he glanced around at the dusty room, hands clasped behind his back. “I seldom do.”  
  
“But- but how?” Belle had turned to him, near tears from the audacity of such a thought. “You must have every book ever written- how could you keep yourself away?”  
  
Rumpelstiltskin blinked at her, the corners of his mouth tilting in a bemused smile, though not unkind. “You like to read, Belle?” he asked gently. The room seemed to have that effect- it was a sacred place, quiet and warm, peaceful, and would not suffer the insolence of the world beyond that could not devote the time and dedication to the written word.  
  
“I adore it,” Belle murmured, but her passion seeped through into her words and she uncurled her fingers, biting her lip as she looked back at the book cases. “I don’t understand why you would ever want to leave.”  
  
“I’m not one to reread,” Rumpelstiltskin shrugged easily, looking down at the tips of his boots.  
  
Belle turned back to him, pretty eyes wide and blinking. “You’ve read all of these?”  
  
“A few lifetimes allow for that kind of hobby,” Rumpelstiltskin shifted uncomfortably under her awe, clearing his throat nervously, “Of course it took several books before I could teach myself. Had to have ample materials, you see.”  
  
“You taught yourself to read?” Belle tilted her head, stepping closer with care and interest. With every new little secret he let slip, the mystery of the man behind the monster’s facade unravelled. If he had to teach himself, that must have meant he was from a lowly upbring, and Belle’s curiosity ignited, possibilities skittering through her mind.  
  
Rumpelstiltskin seemed to realize what he’d admitted, eyes widening. He opened his mouth, hesitating, before shaking his head quickly, turning to the side. “It’s no matter. You’re welcome to read whatever you wish,” he waved his hand carelessly before striding with clipped steps out the door, leaving Belle to wonder what cost him more-his secrets or his generosity.  
  
Yet now for all her life, she couldn’t concentrate on reading the book in her lap, her gaze drawn to the melting snow caps and twinkling stars overhead beyond the freshly shined window panes. She was only dimly aware of the creaking wheel quieting before she felt the warm presence of Rumpelstiltskin coming to stand beside her. “You seem melancholy,” he said after a moment, his voice a bit strained. He was uncomfortable, shifting from foot to foot.  
  
Belle looked up at him, smiling slightly. “No, I’m not, not really,” she sighed, rearranging her skirts at her feet as she moved to sit comfortably and face him. “I was just thinking about the stars,” she gestured carelessly at the window. “My tutor used to call it folly, reading signs and predictions in the sky. He said it was witchcraft and nonsense,” Belle quirked her eyebrow, leaning closer to Rumpelstiltskin conspiratorially, lowering her voice as she shared a secret, “I think he was a bit stuck in the mud, really.”  
  
Rumpelstiltskin smiled down at her fondly before glancing out the window. “Well I see no value in it, myself,” he admitted. “But mapping the constellations is useful enough. Being able to read the sky has its advantages, both simple and complex.”  
  
Belle raised her eyebrows. “You can do that?”  
  
“Yes. It’s quite essential to some things I’ve invested in,” at Belle’s blank look, Rumpelstiltskin rolled his eyes, tapping her nose. “Magic, dearie.”  
  
“Oh,” Belle ruffled her nose, smiling shyly. “Right.” In hindsight, it made perfect sense. Belle knew her mythology and that many parts of magic were tied with the changing of the seasons and the elemental aspects of nature. Tilting her head to the side, and looking up at him from under her lashes, Belle narrowed her eyes curiously and asked, “Does that mean- rather, do you know how to chart stars?”  
  
His answer was a vague hum, nodding, “I do. When I must.”  
  
“Could you teach me?”  
  
Rumpelstiltskin startled, blinking down at her in confusion for such a long moment that Belle felt herself blush, sheepish. She shifted on the seat. “I think it would be terribly interesting,” she said after a moment, her heart beating out of rhythm with the hum of something else, some twirling giddiness deep inside her chest. “And... and I always loved my lessons,” Rumpelstiltskin hesitated, at the verge of denying her she was sure. Without a second thought she took his hand in both of hers, staring up at him pleadingly, “Oh, please, Rumpelstiltskin- please say you will?”  
  
Of course, it would be fascinating. A new occupation for her free time, especially in the evenings when she felt so fatigued yet her mind was left calm and alert, it was something she knew she would enjoy, especially if Rumpelstiltskin was the one to teach her.  
  
“I won’t get in the way,” Belle promised meekly at his silence.  
  
Rumpelstiltskin was still staring at their joined hands, and gulped. Robbed of words for perhaps the first time she had ever seen him, all he did was nod, distant and dazed. With a delighted giggle, Belle leapt up from her perch at the window and pressed a sweet kiss to his cheek. She swept past him, hurrying to return her book to the library before bed with a new lightness in her step.  
  
That was how they found themselves every evening, then. Rumpelstiltskin had led Belle into his turret, a lofty tower with even more bookshelves and large oak tables situated near the windows for the added light, all cluttered with glass vials, crystal spheres, brass workings, and bottled herbs and potions. He showed her where he brewed, where he kept his ledger, barely getting a word in edgewise as Belle jumped at every chance she could attain to ask another question.  
  
Astronomy was, like every other pursuit involving figures, not Belle’s persuasion. The calculations to measure the distances between stars and planets was tiresome, and when Rumpelstiltskin left her with the compass, chart, and map at his very own desk to attend a potion he was working on, she had to catch herself from simply gazing at the night sky.  
  
It was a week after they’d begun when Belle found that she quite enjoyed the lessons, regardless of the difficulty. It was Rumpelstiltskin’s presence that made all the difference.  
  
Standing before the desk with him at her back, Belle couldn’t hide her smile as he helped her draw the constellations. They’d charted the stars the appropriate distances, but Belle had wanted to draw the constellations’ representations within each diagram. Her more artistic approach had stirred Rumpelstiltskin’s curiosity, and an hour into the task had him snickering at her horrible attempt at a scorpion.  
  
“Don’t laugh!” Belle giggled, her whole frame shaking to try to still her pencil before she ruined the entire effort. He didn’t giggle like he did when they first met, not anymore; his amusement now was real laughter, from the heart, a deeper sound that made her warm all over, and she found it quite infectious. All she wished to do after hearing such a lovely sound was to make him laugh all the more.  
  
Rumpelstiltskin leaned over, his chin resting on her shoulder as his arms came around to rest his palms on her waist. She could feel his chest pressing against her back and the tremble there as he suppressed his laughter. With a gently touch, his arm folded over her own, his hand cupping the back of hers. Belle’s smile and laughter slowly stopped when she realized how close he was, but Rumpelstiltskin didn’t seem to notice her disquiet as he led her hand, helping her draw the creature. They were barely touching, yet it felt even more intimate than when he’d held her once upon a dream, or in the garden. His other hand rested warmly at her waist, and Belle knew she should focus before the moment broke and he pulled away again. Because surely he would notice, what with her heart hammering and her breathing growing heavier by the moment.  
  
“Isn’t this cozy.”  
  
The pencil between both their fingers broke against the parchment, and Belle felt Rumpelstiltskin go rigid and hollow. He pulled away from her, leaving her bereft and cold as they both turned to the tower stairs where a woman in a deep black velvet cloak stood, leaning seductively on the wooden railing. Belle swallowed thickly, Rumpelstiltskin’s nervous energy putting her on edge. The woman had large dark eyes with a thin red lipped smile and a mass of black curls that swayed with her every move as she pushed herself up, waltzing to the opposite side of one of the potion tables. Only when she stepped under the moonlight pouring in through the window did Belle notice the greying of her hair and the wrinkles around her lips and eyes. She did not think them laugh lines.  
  
Rumpelstiltskin stood unmovingly, feet planted firmly and hands flexing slowly at his sides. He was half obscuring Belle, and she thought perhaps he might have been doing that on purpose, but the woman’s eyes flickered to Belle nevertheless, and a smile lit her face.  
  
“Oh,” the woman cooed, leaning her fingertips against the tabletop, narrowing her eyes. “What a pretty bauble, Rumple. Is she new?”  
  
Belle saw out of the corner of his eye how Rumpelstiltskin flinched, just barely, and noticed his fingers curl into fists, pressing against his thighs. “My caretaker,” he answered tightly, then quickly, “You were to send word before you came. You broke the stipulations of our deal.”  
  
“Seems you broke them first,” the woman continued, her eyes never leaving Belle’s face. The former knight’s daughter stood her ground, attempting to mask her face into cool calmness, but the woman’s smile only widened at the effort. “You’ve been holding out on me. I didn’t know you had this little blossom tucked away.”  
  
Rumpelstiltskin took a step in front of Belle, his arm going out to curl around her gently and pull her behind him, and she followed his movements quietly. She didn’t know who the woman was, but Rumpelstiltskin’s disturbance alarmed Belle. With all his other visitors he was always so self-assured and tranquil, but this woman, whoever she was, took away his certainty. He seemed to anticipate anything and everything that was his stood in danger of her presence, and Belle’s heart thrummed when she realized she was one of those counted.  
  
“Not in the slightest,” his voice was too light, too giggling and easy. “You don’t want this one anyway, dearie. Pretty, perhaps, but no substance.”  
  
“Hm,” the woman narrowed her eyes, but before she could give the words any serious thought, Rumpelstiltskin plucked a little glass vial from somewhere off the potion table. Inside, two shimmering gold and silver threads moved, glimmering inside like living things. He tossed it to the woman, who caught it deftly with a frown. “Thank you, Rumple,” she said, tugging on the lapels of her cloak, her smile liquidy. “You’ve always been so accommodating.”  
  
Rumpelstiltskin gave a mocking bow before hesitating and circling around the table. “I will see you out.”  
  
Belle watched both of them leave, not failing to notice the woman walk so closely to Rumpelstiltskin, nor how she held the little bottle in such a white knuckled grip.  
  
Sitting down on his desk chair, Belle let out a long breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding. Her mind was cloudy with what she’d just witnessed, and attempted to work it out. She had seen Rumpelstiltskin make a hundred deals, maybe even more than that. She had even been in the crossfires of a few. But it was the first time she’d ever seen anyone cause him unease. And the woman had not seemed outwardly intimidating, her clothing plain but fine (if strangely made, in a style Belle had never seen before, too old perhaps), her features handsome yet not grippingly beautiful. Belle thought perhaps she might be a witch, but if that was the case, she couldn’t imagine the woman could hold much power over the Dark One.  
  
And what had the woman meant? ‘Accommodating’? Furthermore, what had Rumpelstiltskin meant by “pretty” but “no substance”!  
  
Her elation slowly dwindled like cooling coals, and Belle found herself waiting in Rumpelstiltskin’s desk chair, staring dejectedly at their silly attempts to draw the mythological constellations, the compass twirling in her hands absent mindedly. She waited for what felt like over an hour, doodling with the broken pencil in the corner of the map before a thought occurred to her that he must have forgotten her up in the turret.  
  
The idea shouldn’t have hurt her as much as it did, yet she did feel angry as well. She marched down the stairs, hands balled into fists at her sides as she walked the length of the castle before coming into the great hall where she found him standing at his spinning wheel. Frown set firmly in place, Belle walked right up to the platform until she stood just below, staring at him hard even while he so very pointedly tried to ignore her gaze.  
  
“Is the visitor gone?” Belle asked, forcing her hands to stay at her sides and not spring them upon her hips in indignation.  
  
Rumpelstiltskin paused, nodding once.  
  
“And...” Belle faltered in her words, because she realized then that she had the Dark One shying from her like a reprimanded little boy. He was clearly unhappy about something, taking a slower and more methodical way with his spinning than the normally smooth, continuous pace she’d witnessed in the past. When she spoke again, her voice was softer and the authority shifted again. “...weren’t you coming back?”  
  
At that, Rumpelstiltskin finally looked up at her, startled. His hand paused on the wheel.  
  
“You... forgot me,” Belle finally whispered, feeling sorry for it and quite lame in herself. She dropped her eyes down to her hands, fingers curled in front of her.  
  
Rumpelstiltskin made an indistinct noise of protest in the back of his throat, and Belle could see in her peripheral vision that he went to move, but hesitated in both action and word at the last moment. She held her breath in the silence that wilted into a tense awkwardness, and it broke her heart to remember the ease and warmth with which they’d found in the turret, laughing and smiling so quietly and privately.  
  
“Belle,” Rumpelstiltskin finally said, his voice low and less imp and more man than she had ever heard it. When she raised her eyes, he was looking at her hands, too, just as she had been. He licked his lips before turning back to the wheel, resuming his occupation. “You don’t need me to teach you, dearie. A waste of time, really. When would you ever use it?”  
  
The words stung much harsher than she could have anticipated and felt worse than ice water thrown over her head. Swallowing thickly, and angry that she had to will tears from her eyes, Belle said softly, “But-but I want you to.”  
  
“There are plenty of books on the subject in my library,” he gave an impatient wave of his hand, his voice slowly building back to the high pitched giggling imp she knew so well. He was no longer shying from her. He was mocking her. “If you are so very interested, we both know you can string a few words together. Teach yourself.”  
  
Her lip quivered, words just on the tip of her lips, but fear, cold and raw and foreign gripped her chest tightly because he had never sent her away before. He could be difficult, abrupt, impossible even, but never had he been cruel to her. Indecision trapped her where she stood, caught between wanting to shake him, plead with him, break down the barrier that had yet again been built between the solid, level ground they’d gained, and wanting to leave him alone as he seemed to wish, to give into the fear and the doubt that curled around her heart like a sickness.  
  
And she had no idea how it had happened.  
  
“I’m sorry if I’ve angered you-” Belle murmured, taking a step closer.  
  
But Rumpelstiltskin answered in a low sneer, “Can you not see I wish to be left to my own devices, child?”  
  
Belle stopped, staring at him and for the first time seeing the ugliness, the darkness in him that had taken so firmly a hold on his soul. The wheel had paused, quieting between them as Rumpelstiltskin’s gaze burned, and Belle felt more fragile than a winter leaf beneath the heat of it. “Anyway,” Rumpelstiltskin muttered distastefully after a moment, turning his eyes back to the straw between his fingers. “I’m sure you have better things to be doing, little caretaker, do you not?”  
  
Oh, why would he not just strike her and be done with it? Why should words be so much sharper?  
  
Ducking her head, Belle bit the inside of her cheek until she tasted copper, demanding the tears that had welled in her eyes to keep bay and not spill hotly down her cheeks. The goblin king’s words drifted back to her tauntingly from a memory of a dream, Our dear Rumpelstiltskin is not desirable company even on his best days.  
  
With nothing left of her heart to spare, Belle turned quickly and hurried out of the great hall, not trusting herself to look back. More concerned with the sound of her heels striking the flagstones, Belle didn’t much mind where she was going as long as it was in the opposite direction. She was proud of herself for blinking back the tears, but in all honesty it wasn’t much of a victory, personal or otherwise. She only found a small comfort in the fact that perhaps it would not have earned more of Rumpelstiltskin’s unfounded disdain.  
  
And what had she done, what sin had she committed to turn him from her so wretchedly? A sneaking suspicion made Belle feel as though it had been the visitor, but Rumpelstiltskin had seemed so adamant about getting her to leave that Belle couldn’t imagine the woman had stayed long enough to ruin things so irrevocably.  
  
By the time her emotions had dwindled back down, Belle found herself just outside the kitchen on the lower level of the castle. She pushed the door open, sniffling as she slipped inside. It was nothing more than a little rustic alcove, really, that had contained more dust motes than food crumbs when Belle had first happened upon it, but now it was a warm and cheery place with a modest fire and a humble stock of spices. Though her luck with the flowers had been disastrous, Belle had found a book on growing herbs in the library and had made a little box for just such a pursuit that sat in the window facing out to receive sunshine. It was such a small trifle, she knew, but after putting the kettle near the fire for tea, she walked up to it, letting her fingers trickle through the frothy and scented leaves. It felt nice to see growth in a place that felt so utterly timeless.  
  
That was the root of the problem, Belle supposed, lifting the edge of her apron to her cheek where the tears finally had begun to fall. What was she, aside from a speck of dust in the grand scheme of a master sorcerer? Had he not dealt for a caretaker for forever- her forever, not his? She was merely a supply to run out, a means to an end that would end long before his whims and delights.  
  
Belle had always felt small, so very small and insignificant, but being in a place, even as dark as the home of Rumpelstiltskin, with a purpose had made her feel hopeful.  
  
Now, Belle could only feel even smaller than before, a foolish child who’d not listened to a father’s caution, not taken the hand of a god or the dream of a king, and not found the bravery in the face of the beast she had thought a man.  
  
“Well don’t look so down, lovey!”  
  
Belle startled so violently that she knocked the herb box from the window, the rich black soil spilling across her heeled shoes as she twirled about. She held onto the window sill, her other hand over her heart as she faced the same woman Rumpelstiltskin had shown out a mere hour before. She was leaning against the threshold of the kitchen’s door, smiling pleasantly enough but raising her eyebrows at Belle’s upset. “So sorry,” she said lightly with a little laugh. “Didn’t mean to give you a turn.”  
  
“I- I didn’t hear you,” Belle stammered, kneeling down quickly and scooping the soil back into the little garden box. She could hear the woman moving into the kitchen and quickened her pace, scooping up the fallen herbs and straightening, never putting her back to the stranger.  
  
The woman came to stand just in front of Belle, tapping her cheek thoughtfully as she observed the younger girl. “Tsk, tsk, look at you,” she cooed, reaching forward and framing Belle’s face affectionately with her hands. Belle’s skin alighted as if with sparks, and she was only dimly aware of the woman setting the herbs aside on the table. “All this beauty going to waste in a dingy little kitchen.”  
  
Belle felt her face heat with a blush, but words failed her in that moment. She wasn’t exactly sure how to reply to such a thing, and the fact she had not had pleasant experiences in the past with Rumpelstiltskin’s visitors gave her pause before saying anything. The woman narrowed her eyes, smiling appreciatively. “And polite, too. Why does he have you all cooped up down here?” She threw her dark curly haired head back with a rich laugh, “Don’t tell me you sleep in the cinders! That’s overrated nowadays.”  
  
“Of- of course not!” Belle stammered, brushing her hands on her apron.  
  
“Yet here you are on your hands and knees, smudged with dirt,” the woman took Belle’s hands up, inspecting her palms breezily. “Dry, cracked skin- using lye, I imagine, yes? Little scrapes and scratches-garden work, and cooking, too,” she made the ‘tsk’ sound again, and for some reason that quite bothered Belle.  
  
“I choose these things- ma’am,” Belle added at the end, taming her voice as much as she could. She was sure her annoyance was born from already being emotional. Belle yanked her hands out of the woman’s grasp, and suddenly it wasn’t even just the presumptions but her presence alone in Belle’s kitchen that irritated her. “I’m here of my own free will, and I would ask that you leave.”  
  
“You made a deal with him, dear, didn’t you?” asked the woman with suddenly such a soft, pitying look that Belle wanted to scratch her face. Another tsk, and she said, “He always goes for the young ones, you see, especially the kind who think they know what they’re doing. Pride goes before the fall, as they say.”  
  
Belle ruffled her nose in distaste. “It was my decision.”  
  
“You shouldn’t have had to make that choice, my dear,” the woman sighed, caressing Belle’s cheek with a strange fondness that Belle had never felt, but it was not unpleasant either. It was comforting, in a strange way. “You’re but a child still. What must your mother think, enslaved by the Dark One?”  
  
“He didn’t enslave-”  
  
“Word choice means little to a mother who’s lost her child.”  
  
Belle burned, curling her hands into fists at her sides. “My mother is dead,” she said, steel in her voice and spine as she met the woman’s eyes fiercely. “I lost her long before she could lose me.”  
  
A moment of brief silence settled between them, and the woman watched her sadly, clasping her hands together in front of her. “Oh, my dear,” she murmured. “I am sorry. Such a sweet girl, you seem to me, too-it’s always tragic to see a bright young thing lose the chance of love.”  
  
“It never...” Belle stopped, looking down at her own hands, smudged with soot and cinders and soil, dirty and grubby. A new pain, deeper and more bitter than Rumpelstiltskin could ever cause festered in her breast. What was she to say? Belle had lived her life without her mother, save for the little pearl that hung about her throat, but she had never given her absence the advantage of ruining her chance at happiness. Her mother wouldn’t have wanted that for her. “...it didn’t hinder me, I tried not to let it...”  
  
“No, just as a flower may bloom with simple sunshine and water,” the woman crooned, trickling her fingers through Belle’s hair, and this time she did not pull away. “But with someone to nurture it, think of how that flower could flourish.”  
  
Belle gave a watery laugh, moving to sit upon the polished oak table before the fire, dabbing her eyes with the edge of her apron again. “Are you a gardener? Perhaps you can give me lessons,” she looked down at her palms, sniffling. “I’m quite terrible at it.”  
  
“Oh, I wouldn’t say that. You can love, can’t you? I can see it in you,” a touch to her chin and the woman raised Belle’s face up to meet hers, her wide dark eyes smiling, warm like cinders in the hearth. “You have it in you, dear. All that beauty, all that youth and life just waiting to burst past stone and brick.”  
  
“I thought once that if I was brave, I could be more,” Belle whispered carefully, her eyes drifting to the fire. “I thought... if I could show what I was capable of, even just a little, I might help someone else.”  
  
“Ah, there it is,” the woman patted her cheek before twirling, gathering her skirts up and sitting upon the table beside Belle. “You have it in you. I knew you did.”  
  
Belle blinked, sniffling again, “I- what do I have?”  
  
“The ability to be more than a simple lady, a mere maid,” the woman sneered for a moment down at the floor. “Not just collateral.”  
  
Her stomach turned at the thought, and she knew exactly what the woman was talking about. “But I made that choice,” Belle protested. “I decided my own fate.”  
  
“Oh, lovey,” the woman gathered Belle’s hand in both of hers, shaking her head. “You were given the barest of choices, limited, and only after being told what you could decide between. That, my dear, is not free will. That’s manipulation.”  
  
At Belle’s silence to think on the words, the woman shrugged her shoulders lightly, tossing her fluffy black curls back over her shoulders, arranging her strange berry colored velvet skirts about her legs. “Sometimes when we’ve been backed into these corners, it takes making an even harder decision to free us.”  
  
Belle squinted at the words, glancing at the woman out of the corner of her eye. “What are you suggesting?”  
  
The woman leaned back on her wrists, smirking at Belle knowingly. “Only this: that you are ready to give up your name, your bed, and your heart to that twisted little imp up stairs, and he wants naught to do with you.”  
  
“That’s- I wouldn’t-” Belle sputtered, her face heating in a burning blush all over again, but the woman cut her off with a short, sharp laugh.  
  
“I know love when I see it, believe me, dear. I’ve met enough moony-eyed, ditzy little girls both high and low born, and they all carry that same look whenever the dashing prince comes along. Well,” the woman paused then, peering at Belle oddly. “Your master’s far from that, but whatever rattles your tea things, I suppose.”  
  
Belle could hardly manage a squeak in response, dignity flown.  
  
“You could do so much more with yourself than waste away here- and don’t doubt me now, dear, because you will,” the woman set her with a look as if challenging Belle to contradict her. “He can’t be killed, and what’s to happen to you once you’re old and grey, a worn burlap sack who’s too hunched from scrubbing and too tired to leave the kitchen?”  
  
“Rumpelstiltskin wouldn’t do that to me,” Belle whispered, thinking of how he’d claimed her in the face of a god, his hands on her shoulders and declaring that she was his, how he’d spirited her away from a goblin’s tainted dream, but the confidence in her voice was all but gone now. Because that was the truth-he was ageless, and she was not. Hadn’t that been the very thought she’d been turning not an hour past? “He... wouldn’t-”  
  
“It’s not personal, lovey, it’s business,” the woman sighed. “He means nothing by it, to be sure, but know that it will happen. You’ll pass your life here between dust and baubles and waste that inner light that was never given a chance to be seen,” she narrowed her eyes at Belle then. “Unless you do something now while there’s still a chance.”  
  
The kettle over the fire began to whistle, and the woman slipped up off the table, humming to herself as she took one of the spare cloths from the corner stool and began to make the tea Belle had intended to enjoy with Rumpelstiltskin after their lesson. The tray sat quietly upon the kitchen table just behind her, all the necessities laid out primly, complete with their two cups. Belle looked down at her knees, turning over the woman’s words as she listened to her prepare the tea behind her, pouring and arranging porcelain and silver. After a moment she paused, huffing, “Well this one’s chipped.”  
  
Belle slid off the table quickly, rounding the edge, “Yes, it’s his favorite.”  
  
The woman rolled her eyes dramatically, muttering under her breath, “Of course it is, the twittering fool.”  
  
When the woman plopped the cup back down, it rattled off the side of the tray, and Belle cried out, fumbling as she landed heavily on her side to catch it. She skinned both knees, but the cup remained unharmed, cradled in both her hands. She let out a long breath, glancing up at the woman who she found staring at her so oddly. “It’s just a bit of china,” she said, raising her eyebrows.  
  
“I... well-you see, it’s my fault it’s like this,” Belle pushed herself up slowly, turning the cup over to show the woman the chip. “I dropped it by accident my first night here, I’m so clumsy, really the worst choice for a caretaker, but I-”  
  
“And yet he saw something in you and you were taken with the bit of kindness, blah, blah, blah,” the woman waved her hand, plucking the cup out of Belle’s fingers. She filled the chipped cup with tea, sighing wearily, “Lovey, that’s a tale that’s been told for centuries,” she glanced at Belle, her features softening. “You don’t see it, do you?”  
  
Belle’s heart constricted, anticipating the hurt that would come with the words the woman would say, yet she hoped against hope that she wouldn’t say them anyway.  
  
The woman passed the other cup to Belle, shaking her head sadly. “He’s let you believe these things, and he’s taken advantage of your innocence. You were robbed of your own tale, your own happy ending, don’t you see? It’s not real, lovey. It’s just another trick.”  
  
Belle held the cup, frozen to the floor. “That- no,” she shook her head, whispering. “No, he wouldn’t-”  
  
“You’ve had a hard upbringing, being without a mother, I imagine. You weren’t taught to read between the lines, to not be so trusting or so willingly loyal to those who can deceive you so easily,” the woman sipped her tea, clucking her tongue. “Damn him, he knows just how to spin someone’s desires. Don’t feel cheated, my dear... he’s done it to all.”  
  
“How do you know him?” Belle asked suddenly, for she had to know. The way she’d watched after him in the turret, the way she’d walked so close and the way Rumpelstiltskin had brushed Belle off so easily in the face of the visitor- Belle simply had to know. She raised her cup to her lips, sipping her tea to hopefully appear more nonchalant.  
  
“Hm? Oh,” the woman set the cup down on the saucer, waving a lazy hand. “Rumple and I have known each other quite a long time. We made a lasting deal once, long ago. He supplies me with something I require for a... personal venture, let’s say,” the woman glanced at Belle. “In return, I look after any collateral he doesn’t have the time to tend to.”  
  
Belle stared blankly at the woman, the cryptic tale filling her with dread on what exactly she could mean. “Collateral... you mean-” she stopped, biting her lip in her hesitance.  
  
“The babes, of course,” the woman said with a light shrug. “I thought it was common knowledge he made that a currency in his dealmaking. Either way, a sorcerer is no fit parent, and you would be surprised how often royalty is rendered infertile. Well, when they come to his door, he is more than happy to oblige them. When he acquires the children, I look after them so they aren’t dawdling underfoot, you see, until the deal is carried out.”  
  
“Oh,” Belle sighed, her heart aching a bit. She didn’t know how she felt about Rumpelstiltskin giving children away-it certainly didn’t leave her warmed, but she wondered why he wouldn’t let Belle herself care for them in between his deals. Belle knew little about children, but she was always willing to learn, and she enjoyed them more than most. In light of recent events, a little one would have been a welcome distraction, and a comfort to ease her hurts. Utterly selfish in such a desire, Belle felt chastened with the realization that Rumpelstiltskin probably knew she was unfit to care for something as important as a child, just as she was unfit to learn concepts beyond her understanding that were mere trifles to him.  
  
Still, she had consoled herself with dreams of children one day, but that was a lost venture now, she knew. The idea of chasing after a little one of her own left her softened and sad, hugging only herself for comfort.  
  
“What a little kitchen mite you’ve turned into,” the woman sneered for a moment, narrowing her eyes. “Daughter of a knight, a lady, and here you are in soot stains and simply letting strangers just waltz into the kitchen!”  
  
Belle went rose red at the accusations, opening her mouth to reply before the woman cut her off crisply, “If you’d had a mother, she would’ve taught you not to talk to strangers. It’s no fault of your own that you’re a bit flighty, dear. Don’t take it personally. I’m sure she would’ve taught you proper eating habits too,” she gestured to a tea stain, a mere little splash on Belle’s bodice.  
  
“I’m- I’m just clumsy,” Belle quickly tried brushing away at the already dried tea.  
  
“Clumsy and chubby,” the woman pinched Belle’s full cheek, smirking. “Men don’t like women they can’t put their arms around.”  
  
“I’m not-” Belle sputtered, blinking hard. She felt tired from fighting and arguing with people, her energy wilting in the face of this woman who was critical, but Belle imagined she was just trying to help her. Still, the little barb stung no less. She remembered Rumpelstiltskin putting his cheek to hers when he’d taken her in his arms and swept her away from a dream once. He hadn’t seemed to mind. Belle had imagined he’d leaned into her then, a daydream between her chores.  
  
It had felt so nice, at the time.  
  
“I imagine you were in better care of yourself before now,” the woman said with no little criticality. Belle looked up, blinking in surprise before glancing down at herself. “No princess, perhaps, but a lady, and more than a touch odd, I imagine,” the woman laughed as rich as a dark wine. “You’d have to be, I suppose, to take a deal like this. Just look at the state you’re in,” the woman tisked, drawing Belle’s skirts through her hands until she held the hem between her fingertips. “Worn and threadbare compared to a lady’s gown. Dirtied, too, and you smell of straw,” she wrinkled her nose, dropping the dress hem unceremoniously, watching Belle closely with an astutely discerning eye. “I could make you a princess, a queen, with this” she took Belle’s face between both her hands, smiling wide and leaning closer, “as my easel, yes, I could make you into anything.”  
  
Something passed between them, then. Some little wisp, a breath when Belle sighed and the woman inhaled deep as if drinking the air around her. Belle shivered, trying to pull back but weakness was slowly climbing up her arms and back like a living thing, and all she wanted was to sit near the fire and sleep. “I don’t want to be made into anything,” Belle said softly, her eyes feeling heavy, and the woman took a deeper drink of air when Belle spoke. She could not muster her strength to think about what she could be doing. “I just want...”  
  
“I could protect you, lovey,” the woman cooed, pressing Belle gently back into the chair by the fire. She petted Belle’s hair, and oh, between that and the fire, and resting her back against the chair, she felt so comfortable, so taken care of. It was lovely to feel so looked after. “I could build you a new life, don’t you want that? You’ll have all you desire,” her hands never left Belle’s face, cradling her so tenderly that Belle wished she could lean in and wrap her arms around the woman’s waist. “You have so much more time left, I could cultivate you,” the woman crooned, stroking Belle’s cheek. She leaned horribly close, and had Belle not been so close to faint, she would have pushed her back, for it seemed as though the woman meant to kiss her, but she simply inhaled deeply again. “I’m a mother, after all,” the woman smiled with a lecherous grin. “I know best.”  
  
Belle pushed her head back gently against the chair away from the woman’s cool, soft hands, whimpering, “I want Rumpelstiltskin.”  
  
“Hush, now, you’ll excite yourself,” the woman crooned, inhaling deeply as she spoke, turning her voice raspy. Belle watched her through laden eyes, frowning gently up at her, for her appearance was changing-her eyes sparkled, her hair was a richer, darker hue without the grey, her skin glowing and bright, wrinkles softening and lines disappearing. “Just try to sleep.”  
  
Without the energy to protest, Belle let her eyes close, too tired to even shift in her seat. She wished the woman would stop touching her face. Belle’s skin felt rough and heavy against the woman’s gentle touch, and she felt her heart beat slow in time with her labored breathing. She knew she should show the stranger out, but she couldn’t bear the thought of moving away from the warm fire. Her mind felt sluggish, but Belle didn’t try to fight it, instead letting herself slip under the heavy sedation.  
  
“Just a bit more,” the woman breathed in. “Just a bit more... and everything you want will be yours.”  
  
Belle sagged against the chair, tucking her chin against her chest, her shoulders hunching. This sleep she embraced was deeper, darker than she could ever remember, but no less sweet. Perhaps she would dream, but she’d had enough of dreams. She didn’t desire her dreams but one. “I just want Rumpelstiltskin,” Belle mumbled. “Please.”  
  
A whistle cut the air sharply, and the woman screamed and fell against Belle, overturning her chair and throwing her into the floor. Belle’s head cracked against the stone, her vision blurring as she opened her eyes. Rumpelstiltskin stood frighteningly still, his hands quivering from holding what looked to be a walking stick between both hands so tightly, looming over the woman who was on her hands and knees, groaning and holding her middle where he’d struck her.  
  
“What--did--I--say,” the Dark One hissed, more reptilian, more monster than man, looking to like nothing more than strike the woman again. “About touching what belonged to me, Mother Gothel?”  
  
“We used to know each other so well, you and I,” the woman muttered, stumbling up and running into the table. Belle heard the tea things rattle and saw the tiny bottle again, the tiny bottle that had once contained gold and silver magic that Rumpelstiltskin had given to the woman, drop from the tea things and roll beneath the table. It was curiously empty. “And now here you are, the great and powerful Dark One who once saved our village-letting a little brat summon you when she will. Is your name so weak that you bend under it after three times being spoken?”  
  
“I raise my hand to no woman, Mother, but speak another word and I shall forget my place,” Rumpelstiltskin prowled closer, a sickening smile of satisfaction twisting his face when the woman stumbled away from him. “Though you rightly can’t be called such a thing after all this time. Older than me, by now, aren’t you?”  
  
Belle tried to say something, tried to push herself up but could only manage to roll onto her stomach, curling one arm above her face. Rumpelstiltskin’s eyes darted to her quickly, his face darkening in shadow before raising his manic eyes to the woman.  
  
“You said you would help me-lead me to the young and beautiful,” Gothel whispered, her nose flaring as she spat out hatred. “Give them the potion and I will have my will-those were your words.”  
  
“Consider our deal dissolved,” Rumpelstiltskin took a step closer until his face was inches from the woman’s and bit out the words, “And take my mercy to get out before I change my mind.”  
  
There was a scuffle, a growl, and a whisper of air before Belle heard Rumpelstiltskin drop the walking stick. He threw an impatient wave of his arm and threw the toppled chair across the room in his haste to get to her, sliding on his knees until he hovered near, his hands just above. “Belle?” he whispered, his voice trembling.  
  
Opening her eyes tiredly for him, Belle saw Rumpelstiltskin smile in anxious relief. He shifted until he sat, and gathered her into his arms gently, cradling her head against his chest. The leather and scales of dragonhide were uncomfortable, and oh, how she ached to be moved, but she saw a shimmer of purple underneath his hand that wasn’t supporting her, and felt his warm breath in her hair and against her temple, murmuring, “I’m sorry-but don’t worry, now, little Belle. Everything will be alright.”  
  
Closing her eyes again and inhaling the scent of earth and smoke and magic, of him, Belle sighed. _Of course it will be_ , she thought. _The woman was right. I have what I want._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To be continued in the final chapter.


	4. The holy man

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A final thank you to all the lovely people who've supported this story from the beginning. You have all been so incredibly kind and uplifting, and I hope that this final closing chapter will be what you've been waiting for.
> 
> A special thanks to Sco, Chip, and Ched, for enduring my ranting, my fretting, and my worrying over this. I could not ask for better reviewers and critics to keep me in line.

That night was long in it’s shadows and heated in magic. Belle’s eyes rolled open through a haze to find herself abed in her room, half clothed in darkness save for what little the fire illuminated. Rumpelstiltskin sat on her bedside, humming something in a voice deeper than any she’d ever heard him use. It was hypnotic, the way his trembling voice tickled the notes, dancing just above her eyes. But she didn’t have the energy to focus on him or what was happening, because the pain she felt was overwhelming, and it was all over. Her skin felt as though it were stretching tighter, her bones creaking and bending, her insides rearranging themselves. She tried to call out in her pain, and couldn’t.  
  
Rumpelstiltskin sat so close to her, but seemed more preoccupied with his needle and thread, his half-moon spectacles tipped low on his nose. She ended up making a strangled sound at the back of her throat, and his gaze flickered in the shadows of the fire to meet her face before he leaned up over her, one hand just barely touching her cheek. “Belle,” he murmured softly, and she closed her eyes, feeling a tear escape down the side of her face. “No need to be frightened now, dove, the worst has past,” he said, and his voice was still deep, more man than imp. She wanted to open her eyes, but now that she’d closed them, it felt too difficult. “Rest now.”  
  
Belle wished she could say something to him, at least nod her head to let him know she was grateful for his care. His fingertips trailed down her jaw before he pulled back, but he didn’t move from his perch at her side, and soon continued his humming. Her body seemed to be at odds with what it needed most, to resist the pain she felt, or to give into the sleep she craved. Thankfully, her mind surrendered for her, and she fell into a dreamless spell.  
  
“There’s a sweet dove, come now, open your eyes,” cooed the Dark One, and when Belle was able to lift her gaze again, she saw first the light had shifted within the room. It must have been daylight, she realized groggily. Rumpelstiltskin had drawn most of the curtains, yet kept one open to let some of the light in. His warm hand cupped the back of her neck as he led her to sit up higher against the pillows. A whimper escaped her lips before she could help it, and Rumpelstiltskin crooned softly, his thumb tracing her ear gently, “Shhh, there you are.”  
  
Her mouth felt full of cotton, her voice rusted from disuse. She couldn’t tell how long she’d slept, but she was sure it had been more than one night. Her eyes watered against the cool air that met her flushed face from her sweaty sleep, and Rumpelstiltskin’s face softened at whatever he found in her, then. With precarious gentleness, he took both her hands cupped in his and held them together, warm and comforting, and pressed his lips to her knuckles, whispering, “Oh, Belle, I’m so sorry.”  
  
Belle’s eyes drift for a moment from his earnest gaze to settle on their hands. He had such lovely hands, for all that they were unattractive with darkened, claw-like nails. His fingers were slender, his touch gentle and warm. The green and grey and gold scales of his skin made pretty patterns against the candlelight, and Belle was quite transfixed for a while just watching the shimmer before she saw the hands he was holding were old and withered. Jerking and trying to pull from him, Belle made to cry out but only managed to croak hoarsely. Her arms ached and she realized those hands, the old, worn skin and knotted fingers he held clasped so tightly were hers.  
  
“Belle, don’t-” Rumpelstiltskin pleaded, holding her hands tight but gentle before shifting closer. Belle looked up at him, her heart twisting so painfully that she felt unable to breathe, her eyes searching his face frantically for an answer. Rumpelstiltskin swallowed hard, the lines around his eyes tightening, and when he spoke his voice was higher in pitch, anxious and twittering, “Don’t worry now, you’re already getting better. But you have to trust me, see?” With care, he slid his hands about to show her palms to her. Through heavy eyes, Belle could see the tiny lines and wrinkles moving, slowly pulling themselves taunt, restoring her youth.  
  
“Draining life is dark magic,” Rumpelstiltskin whispered, but Belle could hear the weakness in his voice. “Taking a person’s will from them, their youth. It- it wasn’t meant for you Belle, her potion was a nasty trick,” he licked his dry lips quickly, his eyes trained on the quilt that he’d tucked up tight beneath her arms.  
  
“But-” Oh Gods, her voice! It was the tired lull of a crone, and Belle felt she’d be sick with herself if she continued. Taking a deep breath, she whispered, “But it was meant for someone.”  
  
Rumpelstiltskin wouldn’t meet her eyes, guilt turning his lips down at the corners. He rested his hand on her leg, his wiry hair shielding most of his profile when he murmured, “Yes.”  
  
It was an effort to breathe, much less talk, and Belle found herself having to close her eyes again to focus on that alone. She’d just woken, yet felt so tired, so dreadfully tired. “Am I dying?” she whispered, her bones aching as they changed and realigned.  
  
“Oh no,” shifting gently, Rumpelstiltskin leaned over her. She could smell his breath, warm with spirits, brushing her face. His voice was too light to be truthful of his feelings, that much Belle knew for certain. “No, no. You’re coming back, and that’s always harder than leaving.”  
  
“How would I stay with you forever if I were to leave one day,” Belle asked softly, moving her hand along the quilt until she could curl her petite touch about his finger like a child. Her voice did not disturb her so long as she whispered. “You can’t stop time, Rumpelstiltskin,” she matched his lightness in tone, opening her eyes to meet his face. “She was right about that much.”  
  
Rumpelstiltskin’s gaze was distant, watching Belle softly, his face a mixture of guilt and such deep sadness that Belle knew even if she loved him with all her heart she could never ease it on her own. But he smiled with it, as if taking a spoon of honey with the pain he swallowed. “Perhaps I can.”  
  
Belle felt herself wilt in weariness, and she let her head sink back into her pillows, closing her eyes. She had not forgotten his cruelty, his sneering despisement, after they laughed in the face of the stars. She had not forgotten how he had bared his teeth and flashed his eyes and did everything within his power to push her away. His arrogance in magic burned those wounds and reopened them afresh on her heart, and Belle tried to shift her weight away from him, to flee from his warmth and sight. “You shouldn’t,” she murmured, her eyes falling closed. “What has time ever done to you?”  
  
His breathing caught in his chest, and she felt him go immediately still beside her where his hip pressed against her leg. She could see beneath her lashes his black nailed hand curling in the downy sheets in front of her. And then his mad, twittering giggle broke the silence, a nervous manic sound that made her want to curl up and bury her face away from him, any sincerity she had hoped for broken under that horrible mockery. He leaned over her, his lips tickling the wispy curls about her ear, “Don’t ask questions you don’t wish to know the answers to, little dove.”  
  
Belle turned her face back towards him, but all she could see was ugly, mottled red that boiled under her anger. She wanted to strike him so badly her hands shook, but she dare not. She wished she could shake him, slap him, jarr him as much as he delighted in pushing her away for the sake of his own self-sustainment. “I don’t,” with a deep breath, Belle began to push herself up. Rumpelstiltskin’s face changed in one smooth motion, from scorn to concern, but she swept his hands from her arms until she could prop herself up against the headboard of the bed, glaring at him steadfastly. She was out of breath from the exertion, but that did not cool the anger in her voice when she asked, “Am I a dog?”  
  
Rumpelstiltskin startled, his eyes widening almost in stunned fear of her passion, but whether he was brave enough to not run or too scared to think of doing so, Belle wasn’t sure. His voice was a throaty croak, “What?”  
  
“I said am I dog?” Belle repeated, narrowing her eyes. “Because you seem to live under the misdirection that you may pet me and care for me at your leisure, giving me the basic necessities to survive but brushing me off when I try to return affection- of any kind!” Belle took a deep breath, but it did nothing for her nerves, her resolve steeling under his abashed face. She spoke quieter, slower and more deliberate, “I will not return after you kick me, Rumpelstiltskin, do you understand?”  
  
Rumpelstiltskin licked his lips nervously, bringing his hands to the center of his lap to clasp for lack of knowing where to put them. “N-No- rather, yes,” he frowned deeply, his curly hair framing his face and providing him a shield. He looked so small, so little against the rising darkness of the bedroom that Belle’s anger crumbled and only left her hurt behind.  
  
“I don’t understand what it was that happened after that woman-” Belle stopped, remembering his harsh words to the mother who’d tried to steal Belle’s youth. “-what could have... changed your mind.”  
  
At Rumpelstiltskin’s very shy glance up, Belle added, “About me.”  
  
“Oh...Belle,” he sat forward as if he would like to touch her face but held his hands fast confined to his lap, his mouth quivering in the need to speak but unsure where to begin. “You must- you must understand,” he said slowly, barely a whisper. He dropped his eyes once more, and she could see how tense he was, how ready to run and how hard it was for him to stay. “There are things of my past, terrible things that never truly die that remind me of what I’ve lost. Of the man I was,” he hesitated, his eyes widening on her as if he truly saw her for the first time, before dropping his gaze apologetically, “If you can say I was even that much.”  
  
Belle pressed her lips together tightly, but kept quiet. She wished to touch his hair, but she dare not reach out to him now. The space between them was like the cracked spine of a book, and Belle knew they needed to reach the end of this horrible precipice they danced near before they could finally close it.  
  
“A man who cared too much and lost what he hoped to protect,” he murmured, tracing a pattern on the quilt beside her knee. “And there are things-and people, that remind me, through their wickedness that mirrors my own, that to not hope, to not have to protect the treasures one cares for-” he was struggling so hard for words, Belle wished she could help him find them. It hurt to see him so lost in himself. “-When you have nothing precious, there is very little you stand to lose.”  
  
“And am I so precious as all that, Rumpelstiltskin?” Belle asked, her eyes softening. She reached her hand up, then, cupping his cheek. “Enough to warrant your sorrow, your wrath?”  
  
“It has taken me three hundred years and a curse to find a bit of kindness, that of which I don’t deserve in you,” Rumpelstiltskin sighed, leaning his face into her fingers and closing his eyes as if the mere touch pained him. When he looked at her again, she could see nothing but anguish. “Yet there is nothing in all the worlds that I could ever do to keep from loving you, Belle. And nothing, in return, that I wouldn’t do to protect all you’ve given me,” he stopped, his voice so quiet that she almost couldn’t make out the words. “It’s only a matter of time, then, before I lose you, too.”  
  
Belle’s head had begun to ache, growing cloudy. Her eyes slipped closed, and it was a labor to open them again. When she did, Rumpelstiltskin’s sadness was gone and he was smiling gently, and moved his hand across her body over the sheets, warming on top of her wrist. “Sleep,” he cooed, his voice lulling her and willing her eyes to slip closed again. “The next time you wake, all will be mended, Belle... I promise.”

_______

Belle’s eyes flew open and she gasped, her heart pounding in her breast. She stared up at the canopy over her bed for a very long moment, blinking against the dying sunlight outside. She had dreamed of something horrible and had ached all through her sleep, unable to wake up. Her dreams had been swarmed with twisting shadows, and it was all very muddled when she tried to think on it. Wiggling her fingers and toes, she felt weak, still slightly sore but rested, as if she hadn’t moved in a very long time.  
  
But something had woken her up, and it was not her dreams.  
  
Just as she began to stir from underneath the bed clothes, a deep pounding seemed to reverberate through the whole castle. Belle froze, her heart stopping at the noise. She’d heard it once before, the sunny afternoon Rumpelstiltskin had given her a rose.  
  
Someone was knocking upon the castle doors.  
  
Belle slowly sat up until she was perched on the edge of the grand double bed, blinking against the dim candlelight. All the blood rushed to her head, and she put her hand to her brow to quell the dizziness. There had been too many visitors to the Dark Castle, in her opinion, and if the trespasser decided to give up, then all the better. It didn’t help that Rumpelstiltskin kept his locks so flimsy, as if so desperate for company he’d admit even the people threatening to kill him.  
  
Then again, perhaps that was exactly the reason he did so.  
  
The pounding continued, and Belle startled when she realized that the visitor couldn’t get inside, which meant Rumpelstiltskin had actually locked his castle doors. Since she’d come to the castle, the only time he’d ever done that were the times he’d left on a deal, leaving his maid all alone but safely locked away from intruders. Rumpelstiltskin didn’t just leave-if there was one thing he did, without fail, it was that he told her when he was going away on business. She may not be privy to the details, but he always told her when he was traveling. Belle hardly thought he’d up and run when she was bed ridden. Something was wrong, and Belle was alone with a visitor at the castle.  
  
Gathering herself slowly to her feet, Belle was able to shuffle to the end of the bed where Rumpelstiltskin had deposited her clothing over the small settee. She supposed she should feel scandalized that he had changed her, but with his tendency to use magic for every little chore, she doubted he’d been more inappropriate than simply magicking her into her nightgown. Taking the thick blue skirts that swept the floor and her buttercream blouse in hand, she slipped them both on tenderly, still feeling strangely sore, then slid her feet into the slippers just underneath the seat. As she turned, her heart stopped to see her own reflection; her face was just visible in the glass panes of her room’s windows. Her hair was in a state of disarray, but her face was youthful again. If she had shadows beneath her eyes, she couldn’t see them.  
  
Rumpelstiltskin had restored her, just as he’d promised.  
  
A gentle smile lifted her face, and after another pounding of the door, Belle remembered herself. It took her an agonizing amount of time to walk the halls of the castle, her body refusing to move faster than a stunted shuffle, and she took the stairs of the marble foyer even slower. By that time, she could tell the pounding was most vicious in its insistence and dearly hoped whoever was beyond the door was not angry.  
  
In the back of her mind, Belle knew she had to be careful. If Rumpelstiltskin truly had gone away, he could not protect her. However, Belle also knew that his magic was ever present within the castle walls, and once, that had made her shiver with unease, but now only served to assure her that she had nothing to fear.  
  
With a deep breath, Belle stepped up, lifted the latch and pulled one of the two doors open.  
  
The face that met her was more of a surprise for being one she knew, and had known, nearly all her life. When Belle found her voice, it was a breathy gasp, “Judge Frollo?”  
  
Her former tutor and the head of Avonlea’s clerical order was garishly tall and ghastly thin, cloaked in black velvet robes with the stiff, starched white collar of the faith. His face was papery white and narrow, his long nose and hollowed eyes nearly gaunt, and had Belle not known him, she would have been concerned. But he had always looked that way, bony and looming as he was, shadowing Belle like some sort of black tower. His fist was upheld in the air, having been about to knock upon the door again, and when his eyes first laid upon Belle, he blanched, clearly expecting someone or something else.  
  
“Lady Belle?” he asked, his deep, rumbling voice making her heart tighten in memories. His eyes took her in, and Belle could only imagine what he saw, how unkempt and unwell she must look.  
  
Belle pushed tresses of hair behind her ears hastily, ducking her head as she stepped back to allow his entrance. Her words came out in a rush, flustered and disturbed by the onslaught of memories of reciting titles and studying tomes and memorizing rules. All in one disapproving, heated look, she was a child again.  
  
“Won’t you come in?” Belle asked, wishing she could clothe herself as easily as Rumpelstiltskin. The looks her old tutor gave her had always made her feel uncomfortably seen, and even as old as she was now, that didn’t change when he looked at her. He stepped inside, and Belle noticed him draw the religious pantomime over his chest-a claw like gesture that pulled from the heart and pushed out, warding off evil. She ignored that, her mouth filling with distaste, and quickly shut the door.  
  
“Please, follow me,” Belle whispered, escorting him up the marble steps into the warm, great hall. Her mind was alive with discomfort and suspicion, but in all things she knew that as a maid, she represented Rumpelstiltskin, even while he was away. As undignified as she felt with rumpled clothes and unruly curls, Belle held herself as stately as she could manage and turned towards her old teacher with a kind smile, folding her hands primly before her. “Can I get you some tea? You must be cold, and worn from travel.”  
  
Frollo balked at the suggestion, and Belle’s confidence withered a little. He seemed so perturbed by her, by his surroundings. Belle wished she could know exactly what he saw when he looked at her; it was so hard to fight against temptation and not peek beneath the tapestry that cloaked the looking glass, but she dare not. Steeling herself for any possibility, Belle set her chin squarely and asked, “Are you here to see Rumpelstiltskin, Judge Frollo?”  
  
“...yes-and no,” Frollo hesitated, his long, gnarled fingers curling along the red sash of his dark robes. He let his eyes fall to Belle’s hands before glancing about, his eyes catching on the treasures Rumpelstiltskin had displayed so proudly. “I’ve come to facilitate the resolution of your deal.”  
  
Belle blinked dumbly, her own hands falling from each other to hang limply at her sides. With slow care, she lowered herself into Rumpelstiltskin’s chair before the fire. Her heart felt like a stone within her chest, the words echoing in her ears but holding no source of value that she could pinpoint. Before she could pose to question his meaning, the holy man clasped his hands behind his back and walked up to stand before the fire. Belle noticed the flames reaching, climbing, dancing more enthusiastically at his approach, glancing between him and the embers.

A trick of her eyes, she decided.  
  
“Your chivalrous act has not been forgotten, but it has had unfortunate repercussions that must be dealt with,” Judge Frollo intoned, his dark, shadowed eyes falling upon Belle’s youthful face. His gaze was so hard, so unforgiving and cold that it took all her courage to not shrink from him when he looked at her like that, a sweeping glance that took in every imperfection and blemish. “Swiftly and sufficiently.”  
  
“Repercussions?” Belle whispered, wincing at the word.  
  
“Your association with your master has tainted your reputation, as well as the house of your father. It’s cast a darkness over the people you should be responsible for,” the holy man spoke slowly, his eyes unblinking as he gazed upon her as if teaching her the histories and provinces of old, just as he used to. Belle felt her skin begin to prick as his voice crept up her back and over her shoulders like some sort of living thing. “The shame of a disgraceful daughter is a curse in itself, an impurity that must be atoned.”  
  
Belle wrinkled her nose in confusion, shaking her head gently. She sat forward at the edge of Rumpelstiltskin’s chair, her hands gripping the armrests. “I don’t understand, I haven’t done anything wrong,” she said slowly, replaying the last few fragmented months of her life. A whirlwind of magic and confusion, of mystery and discovery, meeting kings and gods and witches and finding a man beneath the beast who’d dealt for her, but surely that, in itself, could not be construed as evil?  
  
No, it couldn’t be! It was... it was _beautiful_ , the uncertain blinking in the bright sunshine and the gentle touches that brought them closer, hesitant words tumbling from bashful lips over porcelain and tea. They’d found warmth and honesty, and Belle hadn’t ever felt it so purely upon her heart. She had never wanted-no, needed to protect something so adamantly before, not in all her life. She was sure Rumpelstiltskin would sneer at her for wanting to protect him, to protect their stammering, whispering talks, the hushed laughter drawing constellations by starlight, the delicate cradle of his arms when he’d danced her in a dream, the warmth of his hands and words, _She is mine_. He had pushed her away so fiercely with his cruelty, but those revelations, those little moments that caused his scales to fall away and leave nothing but the tenderness of a broken man with a spot of kindness in his heart-those were the things she wished to protect.  
  
They were hers, theirs, and she loved them and him. The thought startled her out of her quiet consideration, but the gravity of it settled her heart because it was true.  
  
Belle loved Rumpelstiltskin.  
  
The thought that it could be wrong, that the way her heart hurt from feeling so much could be shameful brought tears to her eyes. It couldn’t be wrong-no love could be wrong, not this, _never_ this.  
  
The judge stepped forward until he stood at the side of her armrest, his shadowed gaze closer to a withering glare. “Are you listening to me, Lady Belle?” he intoned, his fingers moving in the air along his sash like spider’s legs.  
  
Realizing tears trickled down her cheeks, Belle patted them away with her handkerchief of lace kept in her sleeve, sniffling softly, “Yes, of course,” she whispered, her voice watery and weak, looking up at him shyly. “But please... tell me what I’ve done wrong, and surely I can make amends. Did my father send you?”  
  
Judge Frollo’s hand was clammy when he slipped his fingers over her wrist that rested on the chair, his words heavy and weighted as he met her eyes. “My dear girl, I fear there’s no amend to be made so long as you’re under the enchantment of the Dark One,” at Belle’s frown, the holy man’s hand circled her wrist just too tight, mistaking her confusion for concern. “There is nothing to fear, my girl. We will purge you of this vice and sin of the monster.”  
  
Those words brought back such vivid memories of starched white pinafores and harsh sticks bloodying her palms in the face of misbehavior that Belle almost felt sick with nausea, but out of all he’d said, only one thing truly caught her off guard, so much so that she pushed herself up to her feet, tugging her wrist free of the judge’s grasp. “Monster?” she admonished, her narrowed eyes flashing, taking a step nearer the fire.  
  
“An unholy demon with a life to serve temptation,” Frollo said slowly, his gaze following the way Belle moved, seeing everything and missing little. His lips quirked in something that might have been a smile. “He deserves naught but to be sent back from whence he came.”  
  
“His name is Rumpelstiltskin,” Belle said confidently, though careful to use his name. Remembering how she had summoned him before, she did not dare call to him now if he was away. Her petite hands curling into fists at her sides, Belle set her chin defiantly, “And he is not a demon, he is cursed,” Was being cursed not enough? The world’s condemnation need served no other purpose but mindless cruelty, where kindness would surely heal. Of all in the world, was Belle the only one to think that? Perhaps, then, she was odd after all, perhaps there was something wrong with her. And yet... “You taught me that we should reach out to the hopeless,” she said slowly, her eyes drifting up to the judge’s austere face. “To love the down trodden and let our faith lead us. To turn away those who need us most, that’s not what our faith teaches. That’s not _right_.”  
  
The judge’s eyes were colder than ice on her skin, and his lip curled. “How dare you.”  
  
“My conscience would not be clear knowing I looked beyond the veiled mockery of even the most despicable of people. Hate won’t heal what is already hateful,” Belle whispered, and realized she was pleading with him to understand her. Stepping closer, Belle took his hand in both of hers, smiling softly. “Surely goodness and mercy are the right paths to take in the darkness. He’s not a monster,” shaking her head, she whispered, “He’s kind.”  
  
For a long moment, the judge was quiet, his lofty gaze holding Belle to her spot in trembling anxiety. His other hand came up and touched her arm, and she relaxed at the gentle gesture, even if it made her want to squirm. Understanding lit his cold eyes, and Belle felt as if he finally heard her when he leaned forward, and quietly whispered, “What a horrid existence you must lead here,” he grasped her arms too tightly then, but his words caused her pained gasp when he asked, “If a sinner’s compromise is the only consolation to being a monster’s whore.”  
  
The words struck her in the chest sharper than any blade, and Belle pushed away with a fierce defiance she hadn’t felt before, stumbling back. Her hand grasped the mantle of the fireplace, her face pinched in stunned hurt, and her voice was a mere whimper of protest, “I- I’m not, I have never-”  
  
“You need not explain yourself to me, my dear. The Almighty is the one you must concern yourself with now,” Frollo said briskly, his hands smoothing down the front of his sash, his eyes taking in Belle’s fidgeting, drifting up to her face. The look, his way of seeing her that had followed her as a child and a young girl that made her skin prickle and her stomach curdle uncomfortably returned in a rush, and he reached a hand out to touch her face. “Wickedness may have spoiled you, but we might find you some...atonement,” the lecherously relish he spoke the words with brought a burning blush to Belle’s face, hearing what he had not said, and she slapped his hand away, glaring fiercely. Her heart hurt that he would think such of her, but her wounded pride provoked anger rather than melancholy, and she felt it fresh in her mind.  
  
“The only monster I see is you,” Belle hissed, taking a step backward until her shoulders brushed the polished wood of the mantle. She spoke with more confidence than she felt, but this was her home. She had the authority here. “And now you must leave, while I still have enough mercy to not give the Dark One your name and crime for insulting me.”  
  
“You would give yourself to that beast, yet reject a man of piety and good grace?” Frollo’s lip curled back from his teeth, and Belle felt her knees knock together. Everything seemed to happen at once. The man was tall and thin and older than Belle knew, but he was deadly quick and sharp like a snake, twirling Belle by her arm until her back was flush with his chest, and he had her arms pinned to her sides. His face was pressed into her hair and neck, his voice smoke burnished and low as he muttered into her ear, “We’ll cleanse you, my dear, and you will answer for these sins.”  
  
His voice turned her bones hollow, and it was hardly an effort for him to shove her down, forward to the floor. Belle hardly had time enough to catch herself on her hands, feeling her wrists tingle from the impact, her knees bashing against the stone, but a gnarled hand tangled in her hair, pulling painfully tight until a cry ripped from her throat. Too weak from still trying to heal, Belle couldn’t find the physical strength to fight back as she found herself being shoved towards the fire and wriggled as hard and insistently as she could, whimpering as the heat licked at her skin. Behind and above her, she could hear the holy man chanting, calling out some string of prayer that she couldn’t decipher over the rush of blood in her ears.  
  
When her blameless skin met the searing coals of the fire, the most unholy scream ripped from Belle’s throat, and she thrashed under the tight grip of her hair. She was mindless to anything beyond the pain, the feeling of melting flesh and the revolting smell of burning hair, and instinct took over in blindness as she grabbed the charred coals and threw them back. She heard the satisfying hiss as the judge howled when the fiery stones took to his own face, and Belle was able to throw herself away from the fire, grappling across the carpeted hall. She could feel and taste blood on her face, and found she was unable to open her right eye. A stunted whimper bubbled from her lips as she made it clumsily to her feet but pitched into a painful cry when she felt a bony hand grasp the back of her neck and pull her backward.  
  
The hand drew her back so she met his chest, but in that moment all the candles flickered and hissed out, leaving the room in near darkness save for the firelight. The judge stiffened behind her and his hand twisted the back of her blouse, pressing his face near her ear, “What did you do?”  
  
“I h-haven’t done an-anything-” Belle whimpered, attempting to speak without crying. She could feel the flesh along the side of her face crack and bleed, her eye swollen shut and making the room even more confusing in the shadows.  
  
“Ah,” Frollo’s voice was deep in his delight as he hugged her back against him, turning so his back was to the fire and he could see the width of the great hall. “Your master has returned, then. Why not be the dutiful maid and summon him, my dear?”  
  
Belle felt tears create stinging trails down her cheeks, but she bit her lip against the trembling. She would not give him obedience, and if it was Rumpelstiltskin, she would wish to warn him of the danger, not draw him straight into it. Certainly he was more powerful than a cleric, but taken unawares, anyone could be susceptible to danger. At her silence, the judge muttered, “Stubborn chit, as always,” and pulled her harshly up by her hair.  
  
Belle cried out, but was cut short when Frollo turned sharply, keeping her tucked in front of him more like a shield than a hostage. His voice was steel, but underneath the growl she could hear something weak and wiley catch on his words when he asked, “What was that?”  
  
Something moved out of the corner of her eye, a shifting presence in the dark that was too fast for Belle to see. She couldn’t hear anything over the wild beating of her heart, but everything had grown incredibly quiet. Even the fire had frozen it in its merrily popping dance, and their breathing was the only sound she could make out. “I will smite thee, demon,” Frollo rumbled from over Belle’s shoulder, his voice wavering in the darkness. “And see you burn with your mistress for your corruption.”  
  
All at once everything seemed to go still, before a second voice whispered over Belle’s other shoulder, “There’s not enough fire in all the world for that, dearie.”  
  
The judge lashed out with his arm and a blade that Belle had not seen him with before. When he did, his grip on her had loosened enough that she was able to wrestle herself free. She fell, unceremoniously to the floor in a heap, catching herself with both hands. Blinking painfully in the firelight against her eye that was swollen shut, Belle could see the blurry vision of two leather boots standing right in front of her, hardly a breath’s width away, and her entire body started to tremble, a smile tinged in hysteria and relief playing at her lips. She leaned forward and pressed her forehead to the cool leather and laces, and felt the invisible arms of magic slip around her. They touched her face, kissed away the mottled flesh and scars until her skin was soft and perfect once more, and she shuddered in pleasure when a black nailed hand slipped into her hair, petting and comforting, soothing away the ache and hurt.  
  
Hearing leather move, Belle opened her eyes in time for Rumpelstiltskin to crouch beside her with a warm smile. His other hand cupped her face where she’d once been burned, his thumb tracing her cheek. “I can hardly turn my back for a moment without the whole world coming to steal you from me, little dove, even to just fetch you medicine,” he murmured, his voice deeper than she’d heard it before. “What are we to do with such villains who insist on taking you from me?”  
  
Belle closed her eyes and leaned her face into his hand, too tired, too dizzy to think of the words or their meaning. She had no answer for him, none that would both satisfy and be brief. Instead, she reached forward with both arms and pulled herself to him, never minding his instantaneous tension. She felt his arms, heavily cloaked in his scaled coat, come around her, his hands warm on her back and his face pressing into her hair, where her neck and shoulder met. She smiled, revelling in his closeness and warmth and the knowledge that she was safe, so much so that  she was unaware of the movement behind her, or of the black and hunted gaze Rumpelstiltskin took when his head snapped up dangerously.  
  
All at once, he was on his feet again, spinning Belle on weak legs so that she was tucked behind him, both his arms like a curved cage as he stood between her and Judge Frollo, his voice nearly inhuman in its seething spite, teeth bared and lips curled back in a snarl.  
  
Belle wondered for a flickering moment why he didn’t just kill the man; not that she wished he would do so, of course, but had it been anyone else she was sure he would have turned him into a snail. It only occurred to Belle then, pulling herself up against the table on wobbly legs, as Rumpelstiltskin stepped between her and the judge, that he had feared, perhaps, for her. Was that it? Had he been too anxious that she might be hurt by accident?  
  
Watching his back, the inky scaled dragonhide of his coat shining against the firelight, Belle felt an irrational surge of adrenaline, enough to clear her mind when Judge Frollo held a blade out, a sharp, pointed dagger, but his smile was the more chilling of the two double edges. “I’ll have her, Spinner. I’ll have her if I have to burn down all of the enchanted forest,” his eyes gleamed then, hungrily, “Do you know how we cleanse the soul, demon?” At Rumpelstiltskin’s answering hiss, his hand clutching Belle’s leg to ensure she remain behind him, the holy man leered forward, raising his blade wielding arm towards the hearth, “With scourges and flame.”  
  
As if the word were a summons, a burst of heat from the fireplace came forth like a living, breathing being, and suddenly Belle was being pinned back against the table, blanketed with Rumpelstiltskin covering her against the dancing flames. When the blast of fire died, so strong that it had blown the tapestry from the mirror across the room, Rumpelstiltskin straightened, his face cold and brittle as he looked down at her, and seeing her unharmed, spun on his heel to the holy man who stared in horror. Belle saw licks of dying embers tinging the scales of his coat, and realized why he wore the dragonhide. It was as much theatricality as it was protection.  
  
Fire couldn’t kill dragons.  
  
“Really, dearie?” Rumpelstiltskin giggled, and it was so detached, so completely hollow that Belle felt her stomach tighten. “You try to defeat me, a demon, with his own element?” With inhuman speed, Rumpelstiltskin stood before the holy man, holding him by his throat, his nails biting into the aging white flesh. His teeth clenched, he growled up at the frightened old cleric, “ _Try again_.”  
  
The magician simply waved his arm, but the magic in the motion sent the old man flying across the wall, slamming into the double oak doors so hard that they broke beneath his weight. Rumpelstiltskin strode across the room with purpose, his coattails lapping at the back of his leather boots. Belle leaned against the table, watching in uncertainty, her arms shaking under her weight before she was able to move, following after the Dark One who prowled like a spider chasing after it’s wriggling meal caught in its net.  
  
It seemed Belle had been the honey to catch with, yet again, as she looked past the broken wood out into the marble foyer where the castle doors stood open from where its master had entered, the vase of roses in the foyer smashed and trodden. The judge was on his back, whimpering, heels and hands scrabbling against the thick carpet of the great hall as he attempted to pull himself up to run from the Dark One as he approached with black hunger in his eyes. Hands tightening to fists at his sides, Belle knew that she was about to witness an artist painting with red if she didn’t do something.  
  
“Wait!” she pleaded, hurrying to round the table as quickly as she could manage on weak legs. When he didn’t seem to hear her, Belle begged him, “Rumpelstiltskin, wait!” Intercepting the Dark One took gumption enough; to do so while he looked ready to eat the heart of someone who’d crossed him took every ounce of bravery Belle had, and put both hands to his chest, holding him away, “You can’t do this- you can’t, please.”  
  
“Get out of my way,” Rumpelstiltskin snarled, low, slowly, grinding out the words between his teeth.  
  
Her hands caught either side of his face, and for a moment his eyes were so large, so filled with darkness that Belle thought he might strike her and not even know her. But when she pulled his face to hers, she saw the darkness recede, the lines around his mouth and eyes soften in wonder at their closeness. “Please,” Belle whispered again, her fingers quivering over his pebbled gold green skin as she cradled his face close. “Not likes this. You’re not a monster, Rumpelstiltskin,” her fingers curled into his hair where it brushed her hands. It must have been a story somewhere, once, the maiden who sought to protect the beast from himself. “I know you’re not. Please, let him pay for his crimes through justice, but not like this. Have mercy.”  
  
Rumpelstiltskin stared at her incredulously, his brow furrowed and his eyes narrowed as if he couldn’t figure out what his little maid was. His hands rested on her arms, his whisper breathless against her face, “He _hurt_ you.”  
  
“And if you hurt him, I’ll lose you,” Belle murmured, blinking away the tears that clogged her throat and pooled in her eyes. “Rumpelstiltskin, I cannot lose you,” with a stammer that was more whimper than words, Belle leaned into him, “I- I love you.”  
  
Rumpelstiltskin startled under her touch like a frightened deer, his eyes widening and his lips trembling. He searched her face desperately, and she could see in his gaze how ardently he wished to run from her, such a small, fearful man hiding behind the cloak of power. Instead, his hands fell from her arms, defeated, and he whispered thinly, as if he were a lost child in the darkness and didn’t know his way, “Belle?”  
  
Smiling, Belle traced her thumbs over the gentle slope of his cheeks, leaning up on her tiptoes and closing her eyes. So close, she could feel the warmth from his breath, the flutter of his eye lashes on her cheeks just as her lips began to brush his, and she wanted nothing more than to kiss him, to brush away the darkness with all the brightness that she felt in her heart.  
  
The sudden pain of nails scraping her scalp and ripping her hair yanked her from that place of safety, and Belle tumbled back. Frollo’s hand was like a claw as he took a resolute hold on her, but Rumpelstiltskin proved faster than the two. He lunged forward and caught Belle up, pushing his hands past her with a surge of magic, knocking the holy man off balance and away from her. None of them, not even Rumpelstiltskin, realized they wrestled so close before the mirror, and in his flailing for solid ground the holy man fell back through the looking glass, his guttural scream swallowed within another time and world.  
  
The force knocked Belle back into Rumpelstiltskin’s chest, and he landed bluntly on his rear before the table. Both of them stared, wide eyed and wondering at the innocent mirror where once a tall, dark tower of a man had stood. She felt Rumpelstiltskin’s arms come around her, his hands flat on her back and pulling her close, their breaths hushed and gusting as she curled against him there in the floor, both too scared to move for fear of what else might break if they did.  
  
Belle felt his touch at the back of her head, a cool tingling beneath her hair where the holy man had left his marks on her skin, and she shivered under the magic. She would have to thank him for that, for how he healed her and cared for her when she could find the words, even if she never wanted magic done to her again. Too unsure in herself or him to lift her face, Belle pressed her cheek to the soft brocade of his waistcoat, whispering, “Is he... gone?”  
  
“Yes,” Rumpelstiltskin’s chest hummed in his quiet assent, resting his back against the leg of the table as they huddled in the floor together, the little man of magic and the bright pretty thing. “...but not dead. Away, off in another time. In another world.”  
  
“Oh,” it was barely a breath, but she felt him nod above her. She warmed as his hand smoothed her hair tenderly, and even more so when she felt his lips press into her hair near the crown of her head. “You saved me,” she said softly, not a question but an olive branch, daring the quiet.  
  
Belle felt him hesitate, his fingers drumming lightly along her spine. “Yes,” he paused, before holding her closer, whispering in her hair, “But despite what you might think, Belle, I am still a monster.”  
  
And then, Belle did raise her face to his, touching his cheek. “A mystery to be uncovered, or a riddle to guess, perhaps, but what makes a monster and what makes a man, Rumpelstiltskin?” Belle whispered, leaning just enough to brush her nose to his sweetly, smiling tenderly at his bewitched look. Tracing her finger along his lips, Belle shook her head and sighed, “You can have happiness, you know. You’re more man than monster, even more than you realize.”  
  
“For you, I hope that could be. That it could be enough,” Rumpelstiltskin said softly, his eyes filled with longing.  
  
“It is,” Belle laughed, brokenly but ringing enough to rouse a smile from her True Love, small and honest. She sighed as he pulled her closer, murmuring once more into their gentle kiss, “Oh, it is.”

**Author's Note:**

> A great thanks to Sco for being such a wonderful sounding board and friend.


End file.
